


avalanches

by fallenstar



Category: Placebo, Placebo (UK Band)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, molsdal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 56
Words: 36,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24284992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenstar/pseuds/fallenstar
Summary: Everything falls apart.a sequel torain to sea
Relationships: Brian Molko/Poor life choices, Brian Molko/Stefan Olsdal
Comments: 45
Kudos: 38





	1. pandora's box

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for drug and alcohol use, rude and sexy words. 
> 
> I do not know the band and this never happened. Please send me evidence indicating otherwise! 
> 
> This was drafted many moons ago, please excuse any weird inaccuracies I've missed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to [rain to sea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031093) and will make much more sense if you've read that!

So begins Stefan’s pre-tour ritual, a thorough clean out of his apartment. He attacks the bedroom first, as always. His bed is hidden beneath various piles designated _keep_ , _maybe_ , _trash_ and _goodwill_. He turns back to his almost-empty closet; waiting for him are boxes of paperwork, untouched since he first moved into the flat.

Stefan pulls a shoebox from the back of the closet, surprised by how little it weighs. The lid bears the image of running shoes he has long since lost, and a label barely visible beneath the dust; _WYIN Tour_. He cringes as he imagines the contents, and considers tossing the box to save himself the embarrassment. The browned edge of a newspaper clipping pokes out from beneath the lid and his curiosity gets the better of him.

He carries the box to his bed and sits slowly, preparing himself for the imminent nostalgia trip. He treats the collection like an archaeological dig, lifting one delicate layer at a time and studying it with care. Most of the clippings cover the Brit Awards, the album release or their break-through performance with Bowie. Stefan scoffs as the articles pile up; as recently as last week they were questioned about the duet. The next clipping includes a colour photo, which he holds up to the light. The trio have been cornered backstage; Steve has been caught in a fit of laughter but neither he nor Brian are looking at the camera. Brian has his hand on his arm; he’s looking up at Stefan meaningfully, there’s hunger in his eyes and he smirks sultrily. The bassist has his back turned to the camera; his bleach blonde hair is spiked up cartoonishly. Stefan knows too well how he must have looked in that moment; lovelorn, beneath the lustful façade. He begins to scrunch the page but thinks better of it, instead smoothing it and adding it to the pile of papers.

He rolls his eyes as he notes the headline; _Strange Infatuation_. Stefan almost wishes he could go back and stop it then, tell himself that things don’t improve; they worsen. That for every day he spends languishing Brian’s affection, the only feelings that grow between them are ones of resentment. But Stefan knows he wouldn’t take it back, not for one minute.

He turns back to the shoebox, and skims through a few reviews, noting the journalists’ disdain for their newfound electronic influences. _Nothing changes_ , he realises bitterly, recalling the negative feedback they’ve been receiving for their current release.

Stefan moves aside various contracts and stage prep documents to uncover one last clipping, a folded article. He opens the fragile pages to reveal a double spread; _Goths on the Goldcoast!_ the headline proclaims. The black and white photo is faded and grainy but he gasps as he realises the significance. The group are posed on a pier; he and Steve stand behind Brian, pulling faces as the singer pouts for the camera. Stefan traces his image with a shaky finger; the form-fitting silk dress, the parasol, the crucifix. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing away tears. He remembers chasing Brian out into the ocean; the last of the afternoon sunlight glistening on the water in peachy shades of orange and pink. The water was cool but Brian’s body was warm within his reach; his mouth hotter still.

Stefan curses himself as he recalls the kiss. How stupid he was to think that Brian would ever want him back; _how stupid of me to still want him to._ Stefan blinks open his eyes and glances back to the shoebox; he knows what remains inside and he grimaces as he scoops the necklace from beneath tattered papers.

The silver cross glints at him, twinkling as it reflects the sunlight streaming in his window. Stefan grasps it in his fist before hurling it across the room; he sweeps the papers from his bed and slams his fist down. He wraps his arms around himself, shaking as he sobs.

“I hate you.”

The words are a whisper; he repeats them, over and over, willing his feelings to reflect the mantra.

He is suddenly drawn to the sensation in his pocket, a trill ringtone and vibration. He reluctantly wriggles his cell phone out, and almost throws it away too when he sees the caller ID.

Brian.

He decides against tossing the phone but lets the call go to voicemail. He supposes the clippings mean nothing to his bandmate, much less the necklace. Brian would probably mock him for his sentimentality, Stefan decides. His cell phone flashes to remind him to check his voicemail but as he begins to dial it buzzes again; this time he receives a text message.

" _R U busy? Lesi is away, can U come over??_

Stefan scowls at the very mention of Celeste; the last time he was over for dinner she went as far as to suggest a threesome and Brian thought it was comedic genius. He wonders if his arrangement with Brian is nothing more than a joke to the couple, something so non-threatening it can be laughed about over canapés.

 _"Not in the mood_ ," he replies bluntly. He glances down at the papers strewn across the carpet; maybe this is it, maybe he can say no for once and finally cut his ties.

 _"I miss U_ ," Brian responds and Stefan struggles not to renege on his decision. A few moments pass and he receives another message; " _:(_ "

Stefan scoffs; this is the depth of Brian’s feelings toward him, no emotions, only emoticons.

He shifts from his bed to the floor and begins to carefully collect the clippings. He pauses to re-read certain articles, noting that he seldom features in any interviews. “Strong and silent,” one journalist describes him, another calls him a “painfully shy.” A particular paragraph catches his eye in the spread from the Australian magazine; “You may be forgiven for thinking bassist Stefan Olsdal had little grasp on the English language. The stoic Swede makes no effort to contribute to our conversation; snake-hipped singer Brian readily speaks for the blonde giant. I wonder aloud if they are communicating using ESP and Stefan only blushes in response. Watching the pair play live, their connection is clear; they perform with a sexually-charged energy not seen onstage since the days of Bowie and Ronson’s guitar grinding glam-rock spectacular. ”

 _Was it that obvious?_ Stefan wonders. He skims the rest of the article, sinking further into melancholy; he cringes under the weight of his memories. “The dynamic duo are the most unlikely of song-writing partners, Stefan cites Euro-pop and classical symphonies as influences; Brian only gestures to his shirt, emblazoned with Sonic Youth’s Goo artwork. ‘ _I’m a punk at heart,’_ he claims before drummer Steve interupts, ‘ _You’re a bloody princess!’._ Brian looks to Stefan for support and the bassist only shakes his head, his sly smile suggesting that there is much more to Brian Molko than we, dear readers, will ever know.” Stefan sighs, running his fingers through his hair. _Yes_ , he thinks bitterly, _there’s_ so _much more to Brian Molko. Arrogance, cruelty-_

 **Btzzzzzzz**! His cell phone buzzes aggressively on his bedside table, he tries ignoring it. _Twisted, manipulative little-_ **Btzzzzz!** Stefan sneers at the phone before turning back to the paper. He stares at the photo, barely recognising the young man in the suit; the young man besotted with his best friend, bewitched by his band mate. He forces himself to look at Brian; the pouting princess himself, preened and pert. Parasol in hand, he beams out from the page; Brian is beguiling as always. Stefan shifts his gaze from the singer to himself, wishing he could send a warning to his past self. _Stop,_ he begs half-heartedly, urging himself to feel regret.

But even now he knows there’s more to Brian than just callous. There’s the Brian who comes around at 4am, stinking drunk, ravenous with lust. The Brian who romances him, whose tender kisses melt into his mouth, as sweet and slow as caramel. And of course, the Brian he longs for, who lies beside him, radiating with bliss, and tells him, again and again; _I love you._

Stefan finally folds the article in half; he stands and places it with care into the shoebox. A light flashes on his cell and he remembers the messages.

 _"R U home? We can just talk. Miss U."_ Stefan rolls his eyes. He thumbs through to the latest message.

 _"R U okay?_ _I’m on my way._ " 

“Shit,” Stefan hisses. He glances around, and then turns back to the phone. _Sent at 15:13;_ he estimates that he has mere minutes until Brian arrives. “Fuck!” He cries, louder this time, and he grabs the box, swiftly shoving it back into the depths of his closest. The bedroom is clearly off limits; he storms into lounge next door; the sofa is strewn with oddments; dirty laundry, notepads, bills and bags for charity. He considers tossing the lot onto the floor but decides against it. _He’s only coming b_ y _to talk,_ he decides with a scoff.

Stefan thinks about leaving, plastering a note to the front door; _FUCK OFF_ ; he pictures Brian’s face falling, him pounding the door in disbelief, calling his name in confusion. He instead imagines welcoming Brian inside, taking the smaller man in his arms, kissing him hello. Watching his face light up; sparking eyes and toothy grin. Both options leave him broken-hearted.

He leans back against the wall, drumming his fists against the plaster. He wonders if he has a right to be irate; after all, he is not monogamous himself. _Yeah, but at whose insistence?_ He counters, reminding himself that half the time his dates are set up by Brian himself.

“Fuck,” he mutters this time, swinging his head back against the wall, “fuck...” he hisses, pain bouncing around his skull.

_Tap tap tap_

_FUCK!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, the things you find during a quarantine. Only 7 years (!!??!) delayed in posting sorryyy! 
> 
> I'll try to post a chapter a day when I have time to edit them!


	2. as silver turns to blue

Brian shifts uncomfortably at the door, rising up and down on his toes as he waits. He wonders if he should just leave, _am I overreacting?_ He taps again, softly, perhaps not wanting to be heard. After what feels like an eternity, the door slowly opens. Stefan looks strange; hollow and wary.

“Hey love,” Brian says, moving carefully towards him. He rises up to peck Stefan on the cheek. Brian watches a smile flicker then fade from his face. “I’m sorry, I – is this a bad time? I shouldn’t have come-”

“It’s fine,” Stefan sighs, stepping back to allow Brian into the hallway.

“Is it? Are you?” Brian queries, squinting up at Stefan, attempting to humour him with theatrics.

“What do you want?” Stefan counters, arms folded against his chest, clearly not amused. Brian is taken aback; he wracks his mind for something he’s said or done to annoy Stefan.

“I – well – Christ Stefan, is it too much to ask for cup of fucking tea with my boyfriend? A chat? A bloody text message?” At this Stefan scoffs and strides ahead of him toward the lounge. Brian scopes the room, the minimalist design obscured by piles of trash. He motions to query Stefan but the taller man moves toward him, arms waving.

“You cannot be serious. Do you hear yourself?!” He stares down Brian, hands on hips. “A cup of tea my arse, it’s always something, something _you_ need.”

“Ste-” Brian starts toward his partner but falters.

“So what is it today? Baby’s bored? Lonely? Horny?” Stefan exhales and turns from him. Brian holds his breath; _this can’t be happening, please, stop,_ he wills the other man. He moves toward Stefan, taking the other man’s hands in his. He feels them tremble; Brian looks up to meet Stefan’s eyes.

“Hey,” Brian soothes, “I’m sorry, Stef –“

“I just can’t...” Stefan mumbles, shaking himself free of Brian’s hold. “I can’t do this anymore.” He lowers his eyes and chews his lip; the resentment leaves his body with a final shaky sigh.

Brian runs a hand though his hair, attempting to process the outburst. Mouth agape, he searches Stefan’s face. Static clouds his vision. Embarrassment sinks his stomach and cold fear pounds in his chest. He’s confused and afraid but he shows Stefan he’s stronger than that; he sneers, nostrils flaring.

“Fine!” He shouts, turning away, his jaw set and fists balled. “Y’know what, good! Great! – Fucking finally! You’re over your little crush huh?” He turns back, glaring. “So I can move on with my life now, yeah?”

Brian slams the door behind him and prays that Stefan hasn’t seen his tears.

He ignores the magnetic pull tearing at his chest, the invisible anchor weighting him to the other man. Brian sobs into his sleeve as he steams down the residential street, berating himself and every single stupid, selfish, shitty thing he’s ever done to Stefan. He stops still at a park bench, still shaking and sniffling. _I should go back, I have to_ ; he pleads to his stubbornness. _He fucking hates you;_ a shadow of doubt claims, _of course he does, I’m a fucking arsehole._

Brian’s chest heaves as he sinks into the wooden seat. His head in his hands, his heart in two pieces. _Any second now,_ a tiny spark of hope still glows, _he’ll come, he’ll find me, he’ll want me. He loves me._

Slowly, Brian’s sobs begin to soften; he dabs at his eyes with damp sleeves and rubs crusted snot from his lip. He’s transported back to his teenage years, the last time he cried, _really cried,_ over someone he loved. No, there was another time, the early days of the band... _Celeste_ , he thinks, recalling their traumatic breakup. The breakup that brought him Stefan. He bites his lip, thinking of that first week in Australia; pastel painted beaches and fumbling first kisses. _Why?_ Brian wonders, _why now, what have I done?_ he berates himself. He stares down the street toward Stefan’s house, wishing, praying. Still, no hand finds his shoulder; no body sidles up to his; no warm lips find his forehead. He flips open his phone, his last hope for contact – nothing. He flicks though his messages and sighs, the heat of tears again prickling behind his eyes. He sniffs and clicks the phone shut. He rubs his eyes quickly and opens the phone again, clicking though the names then holding it to his ear. He smiles sadly as the call is answered.

“Hi, Beanie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New OTP: Brian Molko x a hot pink flip phone


	3. Chapter 3

Steve attempts to hide his shock upon opening the front door. The man before him bursts into tears, hiding his already puffy face in his hands.

“Hey,” he says warmly, welcoming Brian into a tight hug. The smaller man resists leaning into him, perhaps embarrassed.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve offers, wrapping his arm around his bandmate and leading him into the lounge. Brian crumples onto the sofa, shaking as he sobs. Steve pushes a box of tissues toward him, and turns to the wooden bar shelf in the corner of the room, grabbing a bottle and glasses. He sits down gingerly next to Brian, shifting over a little as the other man stiffens. Steve moves to place an arm around him but hesitates. He turns instead for the coffee table, pouring amber liquid into two glasses.

“Here,” he offers, nudging the glass toward Brian. The smaller man looks up and attempts a smile. “So,” Steve prompts, not entirely sure of the cause this heartache. Brian had called him rambling, shaken, telling him he had ‘fucked up and ruined everything’. He wonders if Celeste has finally called it quits, and then considers how this will affect the tour. _Fuck, will we have to cancel? Maybe Stefan and Celeste are bickering again,_ he thinks, _maybe this is just a Brian melodrama._

“Uh, so...” Steve repeats, looking pointedly at Brian. The smaller man looks down at his glass, swirling the liquid, seemingly unaware of Steve.

“It’s over.” He finally says, his voice a raspy whisper.

“Oh, Bri,” Steve soothes, placing a comforting hand on Brian’s shoulder, “I’m so sorry.” He wonders to himself how the relationship had lasted so long; he couldn’t imagine the jealousy and insecurity Celeste must have felt. For years now he’s watched Brian and Stefan together; carefully and coyly at first, stealing quick kisses when they’d thought he wouldn’t notice. He’s watched them fall into a strange synchronicity; personalities complimenting each other like parts of a harmony. He’s watched them with the teasing adoration of a big brother, and with a secret envy as his own relationships fail.

“I don’t know what to do,” Brian sighs, sipping at his whiskey. Steve squeezes his shoulder firmly, offering his support.

“What happened?” He ventures, hoping it is Celeste at fault and not his friend.

“I don’t know,” Brian repeats, looking up at Steve, perhaps hoping he has the answers. Steve notes Brian’s empty glass and motions to it with the bottle, Brian nods. They each sit quietly, drinking quickly. Steve feels the warmth of whiskey relaxing him. He watches Brian, studying him for answers. The singer gazes at the TV deliberately, brow furrowed. His face is flushed; perhaps embarrassment or maybe the drink.

“Well, have you been fighting?” Steve finally ventures, topping up their glasses once more.

“I...” Brian sighs, rubbing his face and running his fingers though his hair. “Not really? I don’t know. I’m so fucking stupid.” Steve scowls at this and shakes his head. “Has he said anything to you?” Brian queries.

“Wait, who? Stefan?” Steve sits up in the chair, confused. Brian watches him, equally puzzled. “You, and Stefan...?” Steve finally asks, gasping. _There’s no way..._

Brian’s lip trembles, “I went to see him today-” his voice cracks and Steve rushes to hold the smaller man.

“Oh, no... no,” Steve mutters in disbelief. He holds his friend tightly in his arms, his mind boggling with questions. _What the hell are we going to do next week, will we cancel the tour?_

Steve inhales sharply– _shit, is the band over?_


	4. Chapter 4

Brian falls onto Steve’s chest. He imagines Stefan; the feeling escapes him in long sobs. Steve squeezes him tighter and Brian finally relaxes into his grasp. Steve says nothing for a long time, simply holding Brian until his breathing softens.

“It’ll be okay,” Steve mutters, drinking from the whiskey bottle. Brian reaches for it after him. “It’ll be okay...?” Steve seems to ask him and Brian tilts the bottle up, the liquid burning on its way down. He shifts away from Steve, missing the comfort instantly. Brian lights a cigarette and inhales shakily.

“I’ve fucked everything up, haven’t I?” It’s rhetorical but he still hopes Steve will disagree with him.

Steve grimaces as he fills their glasses. He seems to be choosing his words carefully, but instead shakes his head slowly.

A long silence- the drummer drains his glass and refills it again. Brian draws rapidly on his cigarette, fidgeting with his own glass.

“ _Steve,”_ Brian says pointedly, desperate for reassurance.

“It’ll be okay,” Steve says again, raising his drink to his lips. Brian feels himself welling up again; Steve is avoiding his gaze.

“How?” Brian bites back at him, seemingly taking Steve by surprise. The drummer meets his glare.

“God, Brian! I...ahh,” Steve stands and shakes his head; moving across the room purposefully. He takes a new bottle from the shelf and skims the label, possibly feigning interest to avoid Brian. “What do you want me to say, huh? This is more important than just you and your dick, you know.”

Brian is taken aback by the venom in his voice. 

“If you two don’t work this out, there’s no tour next week... Christ, maybe _no band-_ ”

The weight of realisation knocks the wind from his chest. Mouth agape, Brian stares at Steve; disbelief, fear and guilt swirling inside him like a storm. Steve watches him warily, perhaps expecting a tantrum. Brian frowns, lighting another fag. He tries to concentrate on breathing, smoking. He refuses to cry again, though tears sting at his eyes and nose. He exhales deeply, determined not to meet Steve’s eye. He blinks tears away, sniffling slightly. _I didn’t meant it,_ he pleads, wishing he could take everything back. _What have I done..._

Steve must sense his regret, and moves back to the sofa, placing his hand gently on Brian’s shoulder. The kindness is too much; Brian weeps yet again, grieving the death of his relationship, and possibly his band. He wishes he could take it all back, he wishes he could have given Stefan more; what he deserved. Steve holds him, swaying slightly as one would with a crying child. He carefully takes the cigarette stump from Brian’s fingers and flicks it away. Steve pats his head softly, smoothing back hair; at any other time Brian would laugh at the fatherly action. But for now, he soaks it up, taking every ounce of affection and comfort offered.

“What am I going to do with you?” Steve asks softly; the kindness soothing Brian further. He shrugs into Steve’s chest, hiccupping as he sobs. He’s known Steve for over a decade, an acquaintance from early open-mics and finally a proper introduction after a Breed show. He can’t think of another friend who has put up with him for as long as Steve has.

He sniffs, and sighs. He recalls that first night, the drummer grasping his hand, shaking it with firmly.

“Hullo,” he’d said, warm smile and Northern accent melting Brian instantly. Brian had been dazed, and coyly introduced himself to the handsome drummer. They’d clicked instantly, and after Brian helped the band pack up, the pair had planted themselves at the bar and chatted all night. They spoke music, film, food and dreams. They spoke until the venue closed, until Brian had successfully poached the drummer for his own project.

“What was your first impression of me?” Brian asks suddenly, looking up at the drummer. Steve struggles to hide his surprise, then suddenly laughs.

“What!?” He asks in disbelief. He pulls away from Brian to take a long drink and then laughs again. Brian leans back on the sofa, watching Steve; the laughter is calming.

“First impression... groupie?” Steve teases. Brian swings a kick at Steve’s leg as he reaches for his drink. “Shit, Smiler, you’ve got me there... I guess I thought you were a woman?” Brian giggles into his glass.

“Determined,” Steve finally offers, “or, annoyingly persistent.” Brian shoves him, but grins. “Hmm, unique,” Steve continues, “and weird-” Brian kicks him again. Steve raises an eyebrow and Brian concedes with a chuckle. “Just different,” Steve decides, “good different.”

Brian sighs. Maybe it’s the whiskey or maybe it’s the company but he finally feels calm. The hurt ebbs at him in low waves, but he feels safe again.

Steve squeezes his hand quickly before standing and moving toward the TV cabinet. He gestures to the video collection.

“Your pick, weirdo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whadya think's in Steve's tape collection?


	5. Chapter 5

Stefan paces, he frowns and curses. He checks his phone for what feels like the millionth time. He clicks though to Brian’s number, thumb hovering over the call button. He sighs and snaps the phone shut. A worn old shoebox calls to him from the closet but he ignores it.

He returns to the last few boxes on his bed, huffing as he moves them into the lounge. He flops onto a recliner, resting for the first time that evening. The numbness begins to lift as he sits; a cruel realisation dawning upon him. Brian isn’t going to call him; _he’s probably celebrating his freedom_. Stefan falls forward, head in his hands. His chest burns as he gasps, a whimper escapes his lips. He folds himself further in, arms around his chest in a futile grasp at comfort.

Stefan’s shoulders shake; great heaving wails wrack his thin frame. This moment he’d craved, a release from his tormentor, and here he was mourning. How wrong he’d been, how stupid, how arrogant! To think he’d deserved more and have everything instead taken from him. _Was it really so bad_ , he berated himself, _to have just a little less of him?_

He thinks back to all those lonely nights, feelings of inadequacy and jealousy gnawing deep into the pit of his stomach. All those ‘family dinners’ with the lovely couple, him feeling like a plaything, a novelty, a joke. _Was Brian ever really cruel? Or was his love just a little bit less, a little more guarded?_

Stefan had known the risk from the very start; perhaps a part of him welcomed the challenge. And the nights Brian chose him, he felt like he did win. Most thrilling was on stage; his body already electrified with fear and excitement. Their eyes would meet, then hands, limbs, guitars and hips. Electrostatic lovemaking before a crowd of thousands. It felt like undeniable proof and it felt like heaven.

Stefan rubs this face, attempting to push the thoughts from his mind. _The tour... fuck._ His stomach lurches, chest tightens. Has he killed his relationship _and_ his career? 

He flips his phone open again and sighs; nothing. He hangs his head in sorrow, in shame. He wants to curl up and disappear, to howl with heartbreak. But anxiety drives him; _I have to do something, I have to fix this._ He clutches his phone between shaking hands, not knowing who to call. Should he tell Alex, warn her of the imminent shitstorm? _Is that admitting defeat? Is that easier than trying to talk to Brian?_ He grinds a thumb into his temple, kneading at the ache. He bites down on his lip and tastes blood, the skin worn down with frustration. He scrolls to Brian’s number, then falters. He tries once more, forcing himself to press the call button. He holds his breath as the dial tone trills.

_Ring, ring-_

His heart beats in his ears.

_Ring, ring-_

He clamps his eyes shut, grinding his teeth against the metal tang of his lip.

_Ring, ring-_

_Hi-_ he panics for a split second, - _it’s Brian, leave a message if you’re good lookin’!_ His trademark chuckle bounces down the phone line. Stefan snaps the phone shut before the recording can capture his sobs. It takes him a moment to calm himself; he wonders if Brian has ignored the call or is too busy to notice it. Either option breaks his heart further.

 _Steve_ , he decides, _Steve will know what to do._ He dials again, desperate for his friend’s support. No dial tone; straight to messages.

“St-Steve, can you call me? It’s important, please...” Stefan ends the call reluctantly.

He considers calling Brian again, but can’t face further rejection. He has to speak to him tonight, has to clarify his feelings to Brian. Stefan stands and moves toward the front door, grabbing car keys from a bench.

He doesn’t know what he wants anymore but it’s absolutely not this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should clarify that I know polyamory is a great and successful thing for many people and also that bisexuality absolutely does not make someone poly/unfaithful/etc. But as a corny bitch, miscommunication and drama are key.
> 
> ~~~ thanks for coming to my Ted talk!


	6. Chapter 6

Steve’s head nods slowly, eyelids straining against sleep. The screen flickers before him; sombre sounds and someone screaming. He yawns softly and squints at the TV, then back down to Brian. The smaller man is curled up on the sofa, his head in Steve’s lap. He’s quiet but Steve knows he’s not asleep. He settles back against the sofa, attempting to focus in on the movie. Though the whiskey haze, painful thoughts persist. _Am I going to lose the band? My best mates?_

Steve’s mind wallows though their history, his first time meeting Brian, their first night jamming. Those strange, sweet songs, mistuned but charming. He remembers leaving Brian, abandoning their plans having chosen Breed over their project. The regret that haunted him with each radio hit, each time he saw that red and turquoise album cover. Finally, the huge relief when he received his second chance. He’d warmed to Stefan instantly, knowing that beneath the reserved exterior was someone warm, funny and incredibly kind. His gentle nature and musical expertise seemed the antithesis to Brian’s brash personality and self-taught stylings. But somehow they made it work; the carpenter, the actor and the classically trained musician.

Steve sighs, Brian still doesn’t stir. He can only imagine what is going on inside the other man’s mind. Steve tries to imagine a tour without Stefan; it’s impossible. Even when he broke his wrist, he persisted; with Bill covering for him discreetly. _Could Bill manage for an entire tour?_ Steve shakes the idea from his head, sighing again. Brian shifts onto his back, looking up at the drummer. 

“Hey,” Steve mumbles, slightly startled. “I, uh, telly off?” Brian doesn’t seem to hear him, focused on some other time and place.

“The, um, the spare bed’s made up,” Steve offers, shifting gently forward, meaning to stand. Brian sits up, still watching him. He sways, weary and drunk. He pulls himself onto Steve’s lap, a curious look upon his face.

“Bri...?” Steve places an arm around him, bracing for another stream of tears. It’s a closeness that they haven’t shared in years, once often faux flirting and teasing; a slap on the arse and a silly kiss as a punch line. The intimacy is confusing; familiar but forbidden.

Brian leans an elbow against the arm of the sofa, his head lolling with the effort. His reddened eyes look past Steve, or perhaps deep into his psyche.

“Did you ever... y’know...” He sighs with the effort of speaking. “D’you... think?” Brian presses his lips to the side of Steve’s mouth. Steve freezes, stunned by the kiss.

“It could have been us,” he murmurs, kissing Steve again lightly. “Beanie,” Brian purrs, warm breath against his cheek, “you wanted me, too, did...didn’t you?” Steve is still; he struggles to comprehend the words and actions. _Did I?_ Feelings of admiration and affection swirl inside him; is it desire or the drink? _Do I?_ Brian’s eyes glow in the darkness, a static flicker in his hypnotic gaze.

“Please,” he whispers, cupping Steve’s cheek and pressing forward, lips moving desperately against the other man’s. Steve reciprocates in a dreamlike daze; his concern replaced by comfort and curiosity. Brian shifts, moving to straddle Steve. He wraps himself around the drummer, deepening his kisses. He leans into Steve, hands exploring. Brian grinds himself drown, moaning softly as he drags he crotch against Steve’s.

Clarity hits Steve at once. “Brian, I can’t,” he says, pushing the smaller man away; his sense of loyalty overwhelming his lust.

“Please,” Brian begs, his eyes sparking as they well with tears. He continues to kiss Steve slowly, his hand moving downward. Steve frowns, willing himself to ignore the soft mouth against his, the bottom lip trembling. The hand snaking beneath his waistband; shaking, skimming sensitive skin.

Steve’s thoughts spiral; his body moves on instinct, seeking pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:D


	7. Chapter 7

Stefan approaches the door cautiously; pausing and turning toward his car but then forcing himself to continue toward the house. He hesitates as he raises a fist to the glass panel. _It’s late,_ he argues, _I’m being ridiculous._ He forces a deep breath and taps gingerly. Nothing. He knocks again, a little harder. Suddenly, light glows inside and a silhouette moves toward the door.

Stefan gulps, wishing he could run. Celeste swings the door open, grinning widely at him.

“Hello darlings, finally” she coos, stretching up to kiss Stefan’s cheeks. Confusion clouds Stefan’s face. Celeste glances from him to the doorway.

“Is Brian not with you?” His look of horror must answer her question.

“I, I thought...” Stefan stammers, “He didn’t...?” He feels himself redden with humiliation and the heat of tears.

“Stef, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” Her voice rises with fear. Impatient, Celeste leads Stefan into the dining room; she snatches up her phone and dials.

“We had a fight,” Stefan mumbles, awkwardly shifting as he stands. Celeste scowls as she redials.

The table is set with fine china, a floral display and elegant candles. Stefan wonders, _an anniversary? Birthday?_ He can’t recall any special event but clearly Celeste had gone to an effort.

“Brian, where are you? Call me back, right away, please,” She drums her long nails against the table impatiently, as if willing the phone to ring immediately. Stefan hasn’t seen her like this before, her nonchalant attitude usually unscathed by Brian’s behaviour. She turns to Stefan as if only just remembering he’s there.

“Sit, please, Stef,” she beckons.

“I’m sorry, I should go, it’s late,” Stefan offers, wavering in the doorway.

“Please, Stefan, tell me what happened?” She looks tired but smiles kindly. It strikes Stefan just how different the two of them are. She’s soft curves to his sharp angles, golden hues to his ghostly pallor. Her effortless confidence and charm the foil to his anxious, awkward self. A ying and yang, perfectly opposing yet somehow balanced.

Stefan relents, and eases into a chair. Celeste’s eyes flicker from him to her phone, fidgeting as she waits. Stefan is flustered, he and Celeste had initially been friends but following their arrangement with Brian, the pair had rarely spent time alone together.

“I said something stupid,” he admits, licking his dry lips nervously. “I didn’t mean it...” He’s embarrassed to go into detail, “or, I did, I just said it the wrong way.” Celeste tilts her head, indicating her interest.

“It’s okay, I get it,” she says, half-smiling. “It’s hard... it’s really fucking hard sometimes.”

The usual resentment and envy he feels towards her dissipates when faced with the reality. It amazes him to learn that she’s also frustrated and struggling.

“Well, not anymore,” Stefan confesses, “It’s over.” Celeste gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. Stefan can’t tell if she’s hiding delight but she seems genuinely shocked.

“Stef, I’m so sorry,” she strides toward him and wraps him in a firm hug. Stefan takes a moment to respond, the entire situation is so alien, so strange. He sinks into her embrace, grateful for the comfort and kindness.

“I’m so sorry,” she says again, her voice cracking this time. “Maybe he...” She wonders aloud, confusing Stefan.

“It’s okay,” Stefan holds her, reciprocating her grasp. “You have nothing to be sorry for, you’ve always tried to make this work-” Celeste sniffles against him.

“He couldn’t have known...?” She asks herself, pulling back to stare at Stefan with pleading eyes.

“Known what?” Stefan is perplexed, is there another lover in this triangle he was unaware of? _Have I done something? Has she?_

“I’d planned a special dinner tonight,” Celeste explains, nodding toward the covered trays on the kitchen bench. “He couldn’t have known...” Stefan squeezes her arm, a vague attempt at encouragement.

“I don’t know what to do,” Celeste sobs.

“It’s okay,” Stefan soothes, totally baffled by the exchange. He pulls her in for another hug, suddenly they’ve switched roles. He’s never seen Celeste so vulnerable. He wonders if maybe in another life they could have been friends, stayed friends. Celeste begins to pull away, mumbling more apologies as she takes her seat.

“I can’t believe you’re the first person I’m telling,” Celeste says, forcing a sad laugh. Stefan squeezes her hand reassuringly.

“Stefan, I’m pregnant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (surprise!)


	8. Chapter 8

Brian groans as he grinds himself roughly against his bandmate. His mind is a muddle, his vision blurred. He is driven by animal instinct; the need for control, the wanting of comfort. To be desired and to satiate his lust. He fumbles with Steve’s fly, drawing low growls of pleasure with each movement. He picks up Steve’s hand and places it on his own thigh, encouraging him. _Touch me,_ he pleads, unable to verbalize the instruction.

He yanks Steve’s cock roughly from his jeans, grazing his knuckles on the zipper teeth as he rushes. He stokes with quick, practised moves, delighting in the moans escaping his friend’s mouth. He angles his hips and pushes against Steve, desperate for contact. He works steadily; kissing hard, stroking harder. He drags his free hand down Steve arm, massaging his muscular biceps. _So different,_ he thinks, wanting the powerful arms around him, a strong hand to work him. He arches up again, prompting Steve; the drummer fails to read any of these cues.

Brian persists, rising to a wobbling stand and peeling off his jeans. He studies Steve’s face as he strips but his expression is vague.

Brian sinks to his knees, he needs attention. He admires Steve’s girth before taking the head between his lips. Steve gasps, panting as Brian moves his mouth slowly up and down his shaft. He watches Steve; his eyelids flutter, his hand grasps the sofa, he moans louder as Brian sucks harder.

One hand works Steve’s dick, the other paws the carpet blindly, seeking his discarded jeans. He grasps the denim and searches for the pockets for the small foil packets he’d prepared earlier. _For Stefan’s._ He pauses, looking up at Steve. The drummer’s eyes are closed, his head thrown back in bliss. Brian seethes as Stefan’s words ring in his ears; _it’s always something **you** need... _his look of indignation, the wave of anguish, anger.

Brian blinks tears from his eyes and climbs onto Steve’s lap, straddling him. He kisses him roughly, then pulls away to tear the foil packet with his teeth. He rolls the condom onto Steve’s cock then rips open the lube, applying it with forceful strokes. Steve moans deeply, pulling forward to kiss Brian.

“Fuck me,” Brian demands, his mouth against Steve’s ear. He holds himself above Steve’s dick, gasping as he pushes down. Steve groans, moving carefully beneath him. Brian wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, head resting on his shoulder. He challenges Steve’s pace; welcoming the pain, desperate for the pleasure. Brian pants, crying out with each deep thrust. Steve’s hands on his hips grasp tighter still, guiding him to move faster, harder. Brian’s head rolls back; he thinks about waves crashing and wind howling. He thinks about shooting stars, and pouring rain, and his sweet, shy Stefan.

Brian folds into Steve, hoping to hide his tears. He clasps his neglected dick and strokes urgently. He nuzzles in against Steve’s broad chest, inhaling his musk. He wills himself into the present, focusing on the drummer’s powerful arms, his fingers sinking into Brian’s flesh, his cock, his lips... Brian wails into Steve’s ear as he comes. He wraps his arm tighter around Steve’s neck; _touch me_ , he thinks, he begs. Steve sighs, his movements slowing. He slides his hands from Brian’s sides. Brian arches up and carefully shifts from Steve’s lap. The drummer stands slowly, awkwardly.

“It’s okay,” Brian lies, offering him a slight smile, “Go clean up.”

When Steve returns, Brian feigns sleep. He feels a rough palm against his cheek, perhaps wiping a stray tear. A blanket is draped over him and the television is switched off. He feels Steve standing over him; maybe waiting for him to wake, maybe knowing full well he’s faking. _Stay with me_ , he pleads, the thought of sleeping alone is agonising. But he doesn’t ask, the thought of that is even worse; to expose himself as a coward, as hurt.

Steve sighs and shuffles from the room. Brian lays wide-eyed on the sofa; the solitude is sobering. He reaches out and scoops his clothing from the floor, dressing himself beneath the blanket. He tugs his jeans on and falls back with the force; a sharp pain radiates from his hip. _Fuck, my phone!_ He twists and fumbles it from his back pocket.

_Missed Calls: 4_

_Voice Mail: 3_

The two contact names glow before him. He curls into himself; the bitter realisation aches, burns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (surprise!!)


	9. Chapter 9

“Stef?” Celeste prompts, timid. She places a hand on his, as if to remind him of her presence. “Stefan...?” The bassist gawps, his stomach sinking.

“Wow,” he finally manages. Celeste laughs nervously, and then pulls a straight face.

“I didn’t- well, we weren’t trying, you know. Oh, God...” She groans, pulling back from Stefan to rest her head in her hands. Stefan’s mind reels, spinning though scenarios and possibilities.

“It’s okay, it’ll be okay,” he offers, his mouth running on autopilot. His internal dialogue is shouting, screaming. _NO, NO, NO, NO-_

“I never would have pushed Brian to, well, _settle down_ , but wouldn’t it be easier, now, with this?” Celeste gestures to her stomach. “I mean, it’s nothing personal Stef-”

“Fine,” Stefan stands, running a hand thought his hair, “Yeah, sure, you’re right.” He needs to get out of this house; his chest feels tight and the air is too heavy. Celeste moves toward him, pulling him in for another hug.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I’m so sorry.” 

He tries to summon his resentment, to conjure up venom and attack. All he feels is sadness, a void where a fire should be.

“Me too,” Stefan finally says, squeezing Celeste’s hand once more before leaving.

He isn’t sure how he made it home, driving as if in a trance. He pulls his car into the garage and hits the lights. The stereo plays softly; something with synths and mournful vocals. Stefan curls inward, arms folded against the wheel. He knows he has to give Brian up, he knows he has lost. He wills the tears to come but he’s numbed, still stunned. He drags himself inside, pushing though the mental fog. He makes it to the bathroom cabinet and stares. The man in the mirror looks drawn, drained. Stefan picks at his raw lip, then fills the sink with water. He washes his face slowly, examining the puffy, tender flesh. He sighs; the tears still do not come. He pulls a packet from the cabinet and shells himself two sleeping pills; he hesitates; _one more for luck._

Stefan sheds his clothing and falls into his bed with a thud. He replays the day in his mind, dissecting each disaster. The burning fury in Brian’s eyes as he stormed away. Words spat; _I can move on with my life now._ Celeste’s sympathy, her pleading expression... her confession. The images flicker, distort and repeat.

Stefan pulls a pillow to his chest, sighing shakily. He clamps his eyes shut and inhales; Brian’s scent.

All at once the tears come.


	10. Chapter 10

Something pounds at Brian’s head, drilling deep into his skull. He rises onto an elbow, lurching forward as if the sofa is trying to buck him off. He grasps a cushion for support, sweating with the effort. The world spins around him, inside him. He inhales deeply, attempting to steady himself. He fumbles for a glass on coffee table, desperate for hydration. The whiskey burns, churning Brian’s stomach further. He gags, almost dropping the glass.

He wraps a blanket around his shoulders, pulling tightly, and peering into the dawn light. _Where the hell... Steve’s?_ He rubs his face roughly, dislodging crumbs of sleep and caked mascara. He stretches his neck from side to side, rolls his shoulders. Bones crack loudly and another wave of nausea washes over him. He reaches for the whiskey bottle, almost toppling from the sofa and swaying violently with the effort. He takes a deep gulp, sighs, and then belches.

He snatches his cigarette box from the floor and swiftly lights one up. The pleasure is immediate.

 _Two days until tour_ , he thinks, cringing. ‘A little jaunt to South America’, as Alex had called it. He wonders if it’ll go ahead. He pulls the blanket over his head, wishing he could disappear. He wriggles down into the sofa, and takes another mouthful of whiskey. _I need to call Stef... and Lesi..._ His stomach heaves and Brian swallows, tasting acid. He swings an arm around beneath the blanket, patting the sofa then clasping his phone.

Brian cringes at the blue glow, squinting as the light pierces his brain. He clicks though the notifications, heart sinking when he realises all the voice messages are from Celeste.

He takes a deep drag and holds the phone to his ear.

_“Bri, un amant...? Where are you? Are you going to be late? Don’t forget me!_ _On se voit bientôt, mon amour… ”_

_Late… ?_ Brian wonders, _Did I miss- oh fuck._

_“Brian, where are you? Call me back, right away, please.”_

_The dinner party,_ he realises, though not able to recall the reason for the event.

“ _Brian,”_ she sounds softer this time, shaken. _“Baby, where are you? Can you just tell me, please? It’s... I’ve... Stefan’s just been... Just, please, tell me you’re okay?”_

 _Stefan...?_ Brian snuggles himself deeper into the blanket. _He came to see me..._ The smallest of smiles tugs at his lip. Brian scrolls though the numerous text messages, but they are all from Celeste; the tone growing progressively serious. He struggles to reply; his brain and thumb unable to coordinate.

 _“Im k @ Stves,”_ he finally types. He decides to take Celeste out for dinner tonight to make up for it, maybe clubbing after. _Now, Stefan_. Brian sips more whiskey. An image flashes into his mind; moaning, a man beneath him, a mouth on his. Brian reels; he twists slowly in his seat, scoping the room for clues. He grasps the arm of the sofa, holding himself up. _No, surely..._ He sinks down in his seat; shame and shock rippling though him. _How could you!?_ He berates himself, gulping from the bottle.

 _You’ve fucked everything up,_ Brian tells himself, _Stef, Lesi, Steve... they’ll all hate you._ Tears trickle down his checks; he bites his lip to keep sobs from escaping. _Why, why, why..._

Brian glances toward the door, he can just leave. _It’s the right thing to do,_ he considers. He wriggles out of the blanket and stands slowly, his head still spinning. Brian creeps forward, sniffling into his sleeve. As he inches toward the door, he becomes aware of another painful ache; his bladder calls desperately for release. He moves precariously down the hall, knocking a picture frame as he attempts to steady himself.

Once finished, he splashes water from the sink into his face, brushing the cool liquid back into his hair. He scoops water into his palm and slurps, repeating until satiated. He pauses to watch himself in the mirror, attempting to smooth his fringe. He combs the long tendrils of hair that frame his face, the only length he has left. Brian pokes at his dark eyebags, wishing he had sunglasses. He sighs and forces himself out into the hallway.

“Oi,” someone calls; Brian’s heart stops. “’Os there?” Steve growls from the dark room. Brian hesitates.

“M-me,” he answers, preparing his escape.

“Molks?” Something crashes in Steve room. “Cuppa tea, would ya?” Brian pauses, uncertain. Could he be so lucky? He moves slowly for the kitchen, bracing himself for anger. A shadow crosses the hall, the bathroom door slams. Brian’s stomach churns; he prays silently; _please don’t hate me._

Brian pours the boiling water carefully, his hand shaking as he dunks the teabag. He stirs in milk and sugar, almost dropping the spoon when he senses movement behind him. Steve groans, shielding his eyes as he enters the room. Brian watches him intently, his mind racing to prepare an excuse, a reason. Steve brushes past him to grab a mug, sighing as he sips. He wears only board shorts, the waistband hanging low beneath his hips. Brian glances away, his mind flooded with images.

“Uh, Steve,” he prompts. He holds his tea between two trembling hands. The drummer flops into a dining chair, slurping his drink.

“I’m really sorry,” Brian continues, “I don’t want things to be weird, y’know?”

Steve blows on his hot drink, raising an eyebrow at Brian.

“It was so stupid of me-”

“What are you on about, Brian?” Steve chuckles, shaking his head.

“Steve...?” Brian moves toward the table, “I-I don’t know how to say this-” A look comes over Steve’s face; he laughs again.

“You snogged me!”

Brian stares at him, unsure about what he’s witnessing.

“Yeah,” he agrees, finally. “Yeah, shit, I’m sorry.” He sinks into a seat, a mixture of relief and guilt flitter inside him. “You snogged me, too,” Brian teases, smirking as he sips his tea.

“No fucking way,” Steve scoffs. He watches Brian for a moment, he smile faltering; his expression unreadable. Brian says nothing, pleading with his eyes.

A beat.

Panic rises in Brian, _he knows._ But Steve simply yawns, turning from Brian to stretch his limbs. He drums his stomach with his palms.

“Hungry?”


	11. Chapter 11

Light bleeds from a split in the curtain; birdsong rings from outside the window. Stefan stretches into the large bed, goose-bumps rippling up his arm as he traces the cool linen. He groans and pushes his face into a pillow. _No,_ he thinks adamantly, _no, not today_. As if the world will stop spinning just for him; as if he could bend just one other to his will.

He thinks about the box of sleeping pills; he thinks about the calm gray fog that will envelope him and the day he will not have to face. He thinks about Brian beside him; half-awake and half-aroused and entirely enchanting. A halo of dark hair, less now, than there once was, tousled against a white pillow. Deep blue eyes, peering out from heavy lids. A scowl, then a smile, and finally a smirk. Stefan traces the space where Brian once was. His fingertips dragging idly though the sheets, where once they would be skimming soft skin. He thinks about the shape of Brian’s body, curled like a question mark, asking to be held.

He looks past the bed and gazes out across the room. He watches specks of dust dance in a light shaft; he sees a gleaming pendant discarded on the floor. He thinks about a humid summer day and a cool ocean. He thinks about a kiss; he thinks about sea salt and rushing water and hot sand. He thinks about a black silk dress, pale skin blushed pink and warm red lips. He thinks about a kiss that awakened hidden feelings; a spell cast.

He thinks about a tour bus, a plane and a stage. He thinks about silence and single hotel rooms.

He thinks about a baby; blue eyes or green? Dark hair, certainly, in wispy ringlets. A besotted father, a doting mother. Lovers now forever linked.

Stefan drags himself to the bathroom cabinet; he thinks about a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be able to update for a little while now, sorry. Please let me know what you think so far! ♡♡♡


	12. Chapter 12

Steve moves to hug Brian goodbye but suddenly hesitates, instead offering a wave; an internal alarm reminding him to recoil from the touch. He swings his door shut and freezes, hoping he has hidden his awareness from Brian. Steve knows he must keep his knowledge a secret, if the band has any chance at all of recovering. He recalls Brian’s relief at his feigned ignorance; he imagines Stefan’s absolute heartache at his admission.

Steve stumbles forward, shuffling heavy feet back into the kitchen. He makes himself a strong coffee, and rummages though drawers for painkillers. He weighs his guilt; the heaviness of his chest and the churning of his stomach.

 _How could he...?_ Steve thinks; _how could I?_ He corrects himself, sighing and pressing his hand to his forehead. He remembers a film, some b-grade novelty. He remembers eyes of azure, pleading. He remembers a hot mouth, trailing hands... The images flicker in and out of his mind like vintage slides projected into a dark wall. Flashes of memory, hazy and disjointed. He can’t fathom how it started, and how he didn’t stop it.

 _Why now? Why me?_ Steve groans and swings a kick into the kitchen cabinet. _It means nothing_ , he assures himself, but he isn’t sure if the thought is a comfort or a disappointment. He knows he has to fix things, but he doesn’t know _how._ Does he call Stefan? Alex? Steve wishes he could crawl back into bed; he wishes the earth would crack open and swallow him up.

Steve sips his coffee and shakes his head; he represses an urge to laugh. _What the fuck?!_ The entire situation is ludicrous; so incredibly bizarre. Short of an experimental high-school blowjob, he’s never been with another man. Steve’s thoughts flitter to another time, questioning the idea. He frowns, skimming though his fuzzy memories. He looks out over the lounge room, bewildered.

_Did we fuck?_

There are no images, only sensations. He recalls waves of pleasure; movement, sweat, heat, release.

Steve scoffs and takes a long sip of coffee. _What. The. Fuck._


	13. Chapter 13

Brian’s hand hovers above the door knob; coming home makes everything feel too real. He hesitates as he lets himself inside, still desperate to escape. The house is quiet; he braces himself for shouting, anger and tears.

“Lesi?” He ventures, padding down the long hallway. His insides squirm; a bitter taste sits at the back of his throat. _Do I tell her...?_ Music leaks from under a closed door, Brian pushes it gently. Sweet scents greet him; cinnamon and vanilla. Celeste stands at the kitchen counter, hand on hip as she pours over a cookbook. He takes in the scene of domestic bliss, assuming the illusion will shatter any moment now.

“Hey,” he offers meekly, swaying in the doorway, not quite game to approach. Celeste looks up absently.

“Oh, Bri!” She rushes toward him and wraps him in a tight hug. “You stupid bastard!” She purrs, kissing his cheeks.

“You’re cooking?” Brian asks once released from her grip. Celeste grins goofily, perhaps aware of how strange the behaviour is.

“Comfort food,” she offers gently, leading Brian to kitchen bench. He lowers himself into a stool and admires her handiwork. He takes a warm pastry and tugs at the edge, unfurling the spiral. Celeste watches him intently, prompting him with a raised eyebrow.

“You spoke to Stefan?” Brian finally asks, hoping he sounds nonchalant. Celeste forces a smile.

“I’m sorry,” she says, taking his hand. “It’s a terrible thing, and I hope you will still stay friends. But, maybe it’s for the best?”

Brian eyes her suspiciously.

“I need to tell you something,” Celeste inhales deeply, and squeezes Brian’s hand. “I know we never really talked about this, but-” She blinks tears away but smiles softly. “Bri, we’re going to have a baby.”

Brian stares, startled. He glances to Celeste’s belly and back to her face. She still smiles hopefully at him. Brian’s mind races, his stomach spins. His throat tightens, acid rising.

“Bri...?” Celeste asks, her grip on his hand tightening. His mind flashes with guilt, then fear. He reaches forward to embrace Celeste, uncharacteristically speechless.

“I know it’s a shock,” she soothes, kissing him softly. “But doesn’t it just seem right? Like everything has fallen into place?”

Brian leans into her, his mind still reeling. _No,_ he thinks, _it’s like everything is falling apart and I’ve fucked everything up completely._ He feels himself crumbling, sinking deeper into himself.

“Vous avez un chat dans la gorge?” Celeste teases. Brian shakes his head against her shoulder. She pulls back and kisses him on the forehead. “It’ll be okay, yeah? We can do this, you and I. And Stefan, he understands, too.”

Brian pulls back from Celeste’s embrace; _Stefan knew?_ Celeste smiles sadly, as if reading his mind. Brian’s chest clenches, he gulps. He forces himself to inhale deeply; forces himself to return Celeste’s smile. There’s no sense in rationalising; his world has spun off its axis, careening into a dark abyss. He’s lost Stefan, used Steve and now this...

“Okay,” he finally murmurs. 


	14. Chapter 14

An insect hum, a metallic growl – a sound edges into Stefan’s conscious. A heartbeat, thudding.

 _Btzzzzzzz;_ he blinks, peering into the dark room. _Btzzzzzzz;_ Stefan swings an arm to the bedside table, grasping his cell phone. He grunts into the receiver, barely awake.

“Stef?” Someone asks. He mumbles an affirmative reply.

“Stefan, are you okay? Let me in, mate.” Stefan winces, scowling into the darkness. Knocking again, echoing though the house. “For christsake, Stef!”

_Steve?_

“Mmm,” Stefan finally answers, swinging himself upright and dragging his heavy legs down the hallway. His mind floats along behind him, only half-aware of his actions. He inches the door open and peers ahead. Steve pushes forward, pulling the door wide open and letting himself inside.

“Bloody freezing out there!” Steve claims, rubbing his arms in an exaggerated attempt to warm himself up. “Go get yourself dressed,” he instructs, a hand pushing Stefan back toward his room. Stefan jumps at the cool touch, the fog slowly lifting from his brain.

He returns to the lounge in sweats, still dazed. Steve has rearranged the piles in the living room to accommodate another person. He gestures to the sofa, and to a cup of coffee steaming beside it. Steve falls into the recliner, a beer in hand. Stefan rubs his face and yawns, sinking carefully into his seat.

“I’m sorry,” Steve tells him, though he’s looking elsewhere. Stefan watches the drummer intently, while the information slowly sinks in. He reaches for his smokes and lights one clumsily, then offers the pack to Steve.

“What happened?” Steve asks, watching him with concern. Stefan shrugs, drawing deeply on his cigarette. “I’ve seen Brian,” Steve admits, looking sheepish.

“Then you know,” Stefan offers, turning from him to take in the trash piled around the room.

“He’s sorry, he wants to sort it out-”

Stefan scoffs.

“Really!? So why the fuck are you here instead of him?” Stefan massages his temples, shaking his head. “I can’t do this now...”

“Hey,” Steve soothes, “Talk to me. I’ve been calling you all afternoon, Molks probably has been too.” Stefan glances at the kitchen clock, it’s nearly seven. “Let’s get this sorted out, we’re meant to leave tomorrow, I can call Brian now and-”

“Don’t,” says Stefan weakly. He sips at his coffee, avoiding Steve’s gaze. “It’s over.”

“He wants to work it out,” Steve argues, “Couples fight, shit happens, but I know you! I know you both,” he trails off, as if his thoughts are elsewhere.

Stefan shakes his head, smiling sadly.

“It’s different now.”

Steve looks at him seriously, cautiously.

“I spoke with Celeste,” Stefan hints. Steve is unreadable, he stumbles over his words.

“Stef, I’m so sorry...”

“I’ve never imagined him as a father,” Stefan continues softly, forcing a smile. Steve stares at him, confusion knitting his brows.

“Father?” Steve repeats, puzzled. “Brian... a father...?”

Stefan nods slowly, lip trembling as he sips coffee. He looks back up at Steve, his eyes shining with tears.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve mutters. 

“He didn’t tell you?” Stefan sniffs, looking puzzled. Steve shakes his head.

“It’s been a strange day,” he admits. His face softens when he meets Stefan’s gaze. “I mean, I’ve been worried about you, and him, us; _the band.”_ Stefan turns to blink away tears, exhaling in small bursts.

Steve leaps from his chair and onto the sofa beside Stefan, kicking over a pile of washing as he rushes. He wraps his arm around the bassist and Stefan folds himself inwards.

“It’s okay,” Steve tells him, rubbing his back. “I mean, it’s absolutely not-” at this Stefan laughs, “but it will be, it has to be.”

Stefan allows himself to smile though the tears, so thankful to have the encouragement. He wipes his face with a tissue, then lights himself another cigarette. He feels lighter now, relieved to share his heartache with another.

“Thanks, Stevie,” Stefan nudges the other man, now slightly embarrassed for crying in front of him.

“I mean it,” Steve insists, “It’ll be alright. It might be different, but I know you guys,” Stefan’s breath catches, and Steve claps him on the shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

Stefan grimaces, but welcomes the support. He thinks about tomorrow; it doesn’t seem like Brian’s called off the tour. _Would it be worse to go or stay?_ He glances at Steve and the drummer grins at him, rising and moving to the kitchen. Steve holds a beer up, motioning to Stefan; he shakes his head. He wonders if Celeste will be joining the tour. Stefan imagines the couple; their intimacy once infuriating, now devastating. He considers staying behind, a month off from work; from gigs, interviews, travel. He thinks about a month alone; oceans away from his best friends, and the man he loves. Steve clasps his shoulder as he passes behind the sofa, returning to the recliner. Stefan smiles at him, realising he has to go, no matter how hard it will be. 

“Hey Steve,” Stefan finally asks, lighting up a smoke. “Tell me all the awful things about raising babies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then _they_ fucked...
> 
> Kidding!
> 
> ...unless?


	15. Chapter 15

Brian sucks desperately on his cigarette, eyes fixed on the floor. The smoking lounge conveniently overlooks the airfield; the rumble of engines sends shivers down his spine. Exhaling heavily, Brian glances over his shoulder, much of the crew has accompanied him to the lounge. He feels heads turn quickly and knows they’re watching him; waiting, planning for an imminent outburst. One silhouette doesn’t move, wasn’t looking in his direction at all. A tall, thin frame, faced deliberately away from him, placed at the opposite end of the lounge.

Brian sighs, longing to move to Stefan’s side. They’d travelled separately to the airport, moved in different queues. He’d finally caught Stefan at the bathroom, almost walking into him as the Swede exited. They’d frozen, startled.

“Stef...” Brian had said, and the other man turned, attempting to move around him. “Please,” Brian had taken his arm. Stefan had stared coolly, dull eyed and calm.

“I’m sorry,” Brian had whispered, sliding his hand down to take Stefan’s. The bassist shook himself free of the grasp.

“Don’t,” Stefan had narrowed his eyes. “Don’t make this harder.” Brian had balled his hands into fists, desperately wanting to hold the other man, to soothe him.

“Fine,” he’d muttered instead, stepping back. They had stood staring at each other, Brian pleading silently.

“You’re set for the plane?” Stefan had turned from him to ask, his voice hushed. Brian had clenched his fists, again wishing he could touch the other man. He’d nodded, looking up at Stefan with sparkling eyes. Stefan had seemed determined to avoid his gaze.

“Good,” Stefan had mumbled; he’d brushed the back of his hand against Brian’s as he’d walked away. Deliberate or not, the contact had sent shockwaves though Brian.

He spies Steve enter the lounge; he waves to the drummer but he seems to see though Brian, heading toward Stefan instead. Brian’s stomach sinks further; _what have I done?_ He exhales though gritted teeth, pleading to a higher power. _We shouldn’t be here... I shouldn’t be here._ He thinks of Celeste at home, insistent that he goes; that she will join him once the sickness eases. A sickness he hadn’t even noticed. Guilt, shame, regret; the feelings churn inside him, festering doubt and disgust.

Brian glances at the departures board, and decides he has time for another smoke. The tech team are approaching him laughing, jostling one and other. Someone takes his shoulders while a hat is placed on his head. His back is slapped, congratulations are offered. He shakes hands and laughs with the other men, though his mind is elsewhere entirely.

The tour manager herds them though to the departure lounge, and finally into another queue. Brian digs into his satchel, locating large sunglasses and pills. He slides the glasses on, and pops two Xanax into his mouth, swallowing them dry. He is soon guided to his seat on the plane and sits reluctantly.

He knows Stefan will have been booked to sit beside him. He knows the others are lagging at the gate, attempting to switch seats without alerting him to the fact. He takes his iPod from his satchel and thumbs though to a playlist entitled _Chill._ He glances once more down the aisle, wishing to see his friends, but most of all longing to see Stefan. He plugs in his ear buds and wraps his arms around himself, cradling the hurt.

Familiar voices stir behind him but the seat beside him remains empty. He blocks out the safety announcements, turning the volume up on his music; soaring guitars and dreamy lyrics in a foreign language. Brian sinks into his seat, his heart pounding as the aircraft begins to move. He pulls the blind down with a snap, refusing to watch the earth fall away as the plane speeds up. He catches a glimpse of himself in the dark reflection, remembering the hat suddenly. The cap is blue, embroidered with a Union Jack and the phrase _No. 1 Dad._

Brian clamps his eyes shut and sobs.


	16. Chapter 16

A bleached room; walls a menacing shade of gray-white, pale carpet, light linens and fabrics. A prison cell with floral art, and alcohol. Stefan sinks onto the bed, feeling both caged and comforted at once. His legs ache, muscles begging him to move, to stretch. He falls back onto the bed, kicking his feet and pulling his arms above his head.

The hotel room is mostly silent; a dull electronic hum and a murmur of human activity from beyond his four walls. He feels a slight pang of guilt that he is here early, while Steve and Brian have been sent out to a radio station. A stomach bug, he’d lied, and joined Bill, Xavior and the tour crew on the bus to the hotel. Brian had looked so disappointed. Stefan wonders how he’d managed on the 15 hour flight. It’d felt so strange to not be there beside him; Brian’s hand in his, his head on his shoulder.

Stefan stares up at the ceiling; a neural stark white. He thinks about his sleeping pills, the same colour, and same effect; detached, blank. He stretches again, attempting to loosen tender joints. Everything aches. He can’t fathom playing tonight; _will it feel fake? Phoney?_

 _Can I just ignore Brian?_ He knows the setlist by heart, has rehearsed the new songs to the point of muscle memory. He thinks of Brian at the airport; he’d looked exhausted, sallow. But those shining eyes...

 _Stop,_ Stefan warns himself, _this is fucking ridiculous._ But his mind wanders, reminding him of whole days spent in bed, of shared bunks, shared showers, shared baths... Of giggles and teasing, writing and jamming. Stefan thinks of an afternoon not so long ago, with Brian draped across his lap. He’d been reading something... a book of Wilde’s love letters. Brian had swooned against him in mock rapture, chuckling at the flowery language.

 _Stop,_ Stefan wills himself again. _You’re pathetic, they’re having a baby and you think you stand a chance?_

He rises slowly from the bed, bundles up a towel and then grabs a small bottle from the mini bar. Images of Brian still flood his mind; a sultry smile, painted fingernails, a heady gasp, a beckoning finger. The montage follows Stefan to the shower, haunting him, taunting him. 

Ignoring Brian will be as easy as ignoring a brick to the face.


	17. Chapter 17

A throng of people, a blur of movement. The walkway is a clutter of equipment and staff. Brian turns back to the mirror, smiling at his makeup artist in the reflection. She applies powders and creams with practised precision. He watches his face transform; blemishes vanish, weary eyes awaken.

The walkway behind them grows louder, the frantic, kinetic energy building. Brian exchanges pleasantries with the artist but keeps a watch behind him, hoping to catch a glimpse of Stefan. Brian thinks about how he’d been earlier that day; cool and aloof, his usual warmth sapped. Brian is stung again by remorse, a venom seeping though his system.

“You okay, Bri?” Lisa asks, misting him with setting spray. Brian offers her a charming smile and pops a cigarette between his freshly painted lips. She tuts at him, mumbling about him having a death wish.

“Finish that, we’ve just got your hair left, I’ll go grab Stef,” Lisa says, shooting out into the busy hall.

Brian pulls a small plastic bag from his pocket, fidgeting briefly before licking his pinky and dipping it inside. He rubs it roughly into his gum, a bitter flash before a numbing sensation.

He spins himself from side to side in the seat, staring smugly into the mirror. He senses movement behind him; he watches Lisa return with his bandmate. Brian offers Stefan a warm smile, and pats the seat beside him. Stefan hesitates, chewing his lip. He glances from the singer to the makeup artist.

Stefan moves toward Brian cautiously; the smaller man brims with excitement.

“Just something light, please, Lisa,” Stefan asks, watching Brian warily in the mirror. She inspects the dark circles beneath his eyes, then throws Brian a conspiratorial glance. Stefan stares ahead as concealer is smoothed beneath his lash line. Brian lights himself another cigarette and continues to spin his salon seat from side to side. He inches himself closer to Stefan, attempting to humour him. Stefan clamps his eyes shut as powder is blended into his skin.

Lisa rubs a paste into his hair, tousling strands into a point. She grins at him in the mirror as she admires her handiwork. Stefan returns the smile, his eyes meeting Brian’s in the reflection. Brian’s heart soars; he represses the urge to leap straight into Stefan’s lap. Lisa glances at her watch and out into the hallway.

“Two secs, loves,” she says, dashing from the room.

“Wanna bump, babe?” Brian offers, holding the baggie out to Stefan. The Swede nods, almost shyly. Brian launches his seat the short distance over, knocking into Stefan. Stefan freezes, gaze cast downward. Brian ignores this, so energised by his proximity to the other man.

“I- we missed you today,” he says, cutting them each a couple of lines. “Y’know, Stef, you should have seen the host at this one station,” he beams at the bassist, then nudges him with an elbow, “you’ve always had a thing for Latino boys, right?”

At this Stefan scowls, shifting back. Brian continues nattering, unaware of the offence he has caused.

“Y’know the best bit?” Brian pokes his tongue out, “not one but _two_ piercings. Can you imagine?” He grins at Stefan. “I’ve always thought-”

“Seriously!?” Stefan shakes his head and rises from the seat. Brian struggles to interpret his reaction.

“Stef, I’m kidding, babe-”

“ _No._ ” Stefan says emphatically. “Just, look at yourself. Grow up.” He strides from the room as Lisa whizzes back in.

“Shit, hair, sorry Bri!” She apologies. Brian snorts the coke quickly, glowering at his reflection. Lisa takes a straightening iron to his hair, teasing the two long strands that frame his face. She then sprays his hair with a serum and attacks it with a comb.

“What is going on with this...” she mutters, attempting to flatten a curve in his bangs. She reaches for a pair of clippers. “Mind if we just do the edges, it’s gown out a little funny.”

“Whatever,” Brian spits, sending daggers into the mirror.

“Sorry, love, it’ll just be another minute,” Lisa offers. Brian watches her move carefully with the comb and clippers, her eyes flickering from his hair to face in the mirror. Tiny black splinters float before him; tickling, irritating his skin. He looks at the curved bangs and the long tresses. _Fucking ridiculous_ , he thinks. _Try-hard, wannabe, fucking loser._

“No...?” Lisa ventures, taking in his reaction, “We can-”

“Get rid of it.” Brian demands, still glaring at his reflection.

“Bri, love, don’t be silly-” Brian snatches the clippers from Lisa and presses them to his temple, sheering off a long tendril of hair. He sneers into the mirror; Lisa gasps.

“What the fuck, Brian!?” Lisa works quickly, adjusting the trimmer and smoothing over the patch of hair. She hovers over the second strand, reluctant.

“Do it,” Brian commands, grinning now. The chunk of hair floats gracefully to the floor. He bends his head so Lisa can trim the length splayed from the back of his head. He watches tuffs fall to floor; there’s more hair than he expected. Lisa trims in sweeping curves, tracing the contours of his head as she blends the lengths into one. Brian thinks about horrified fangirls; he thinks of bible myths and fresh starts.

Lisa brushes stray hairs from his face with a large powder puff. She smiles down at him cautiously.

“Suits you,” she offers, stepping back from the seat. Brian helps himself to Stefan’s line of coke, chucking as he admires the new hairdo.

“Why thank you, _Delilah,”_ he jokes, squeezing Lisa’s shoulder.

Brian runs his hand though his hair; a pleasant velvet feel. He struts out into the walkway, oozing confidence. He seeks Stefan, or Steve; either man he can control. He smirks as he nears his bandmates.

“Hello, husbands,” he purrs.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspiration from
> 
> [here](http://www.placeborussia.ru/audio/concerts/01042005chile) and [here](https://yadi.sk/i/aqEqOr_yYeDdr)
> 
> ty forever placeborussia.ru

The darkened walkway is a hive of activity; but Brian is unmistakeable as he saunters toward the group. Bill whistles, then reaches over to rub his cropped hair.

“Your precious mullet!” Xavior reacts with mock horror.

“Jesus, Molks,” Steve teases, “What do call this one?” Stefan turns toward the singer reluctantly, unsure about the cause of the commotion. He stares and Brian grins at him.

“This? I guess this is _dad_ hair,” Brian says with careful emphasis; his eyes locked on Stefan’s. The bassist feels heat rise inside him, but grinds his teeth into a grimace. The stage lights dim and the crowd begins to roar. Crew members push past with electrical tape, drinks and towels; others join them for a huddle.

 _“PLA-CE-BO!”_ The crowd chants; the men join them. Stefan mutters, eyes fixed to the floor. He wonders if he could still possibly escape. Steve jostles him, leaning over to shout into his ear. Stefan plays along; even laughing as a roadie starts dancing the robot to the beat of the chant.

The group push Bill and Xavior forward; the pair make their way to the stage under the cover of darkness. Bill begins to play the opening riff of _Taste in Men;_ the rumble of the audience grows louder.

Steve whacks Stefan on the back, an eyebrow raised; “You okay?” he shouts. Stefan forces a smile and pushes the drummer forward. Steve raises a beer bottle in salute to the pair, before running onto the stage. Stefan takes his guitar from a stage hand, swapping back slaps with him. He turns to Brian, deciding to make peace before heading onstage. Brian lunges forward, pressing his mouth hard against Stefan’s. The bassist melts into him; instantly relieved of his anger. Brian steps back, smiling slyly. His appearance is jarring; the framed eyes and full lips a stark contrast to the shorn hair.

The drum beat kicks in and the crowd thunders as the stage is lit. Brian steps ahead of him, walking backwards onto the stage. Stefan follows without thinking, his mind finally free from conflict. His fingers move as if automated; hammering onto the steel strings and bending forcefully.

The crowd explodes as Brian takes to the microphone.

Stefan moves with the music, hips swaying, swinging his bass around violently. He strides to the microphone, then to the front of the stage. Brian ends the song with frantic strums, drawing squeals and wails from his instrument. Stefan swaps his bass for a guitar, and leaps into the opening chords of _The Bitter End._

~~~

Brian watches the crowd as he sings, relishing the screams and shouts. The mass of bodies sway before him; all eyes are on him, all mouths cry his words. He casts his gaze across the concert hall, feeling like a ruler, or a prophet. He thinks of the fervour he can create with a look, a word or action. He thinks of his bandmates too, glancing over at Stefan. _Look at me,_ he commands, grinding his guitar against himself. The bassist sways on the spot, his focus far away, soaring out over the crowd.

Brian slips from the stage, shrugging off his guitar and lighting himself a cigarette. Someone hands him a drink; the spirits burn as he gulps. A slow piano medley begins and Brian waltzes back onto the stage. He yanks the microphone from its stand; emphasising the lyrics with dramatic gestures. He stalks the stage like a caged animal, glaring out at the audience.

_Look at me._

He swings the mic stand, slamming it into the stage before tossing it aside.

_Look at me!_

He approaches Stefan and sinks to his knees, blowing his harmonica harshly into the microphone. Stefan glances his way but doesn’t move any closer. Brian rises on his knees, howling into the instrument, his hand working evocatively. Brian spies a grin from Stefan; he rises to his feet, satisfied.

~~~

Steve’s arms move as if possessed, his mind sent spinning by the vision of Brian before him. He clamps his eyes shut and pounds into the skins, willing the memory to leave him; attempting to beat it from his consciousness. He ends the song with a mighty cymbal crash, the pitch ringing in his ears.

He doesn’t allow the thought to occupy his mind; _we were drunk,_ he argues, swigging from a bottle.

_It meant nothing._

Steve takes up his sticks again, leading the band steadily into the next song. He turns his focus to his body; the prickles of sweat and the heat of the spotlight, the ache in his arms and his heart beat pounding. The rhythm flows though him, a beat he has played hundreds of times before.

He glances at his setlist. The next song is newer, but still as familiar. He rubs his face into a towel; his hair heavy with moisture. The long intro gives him time to finish his beer, and beckon for another. He skims the cymbals lightly, chiming into the mellow melody.

Steve watches Brian watch Stefan; the bassist dips and curves, flowing with the tune. Steve hopes he’s okay; Stefan has avoided Brian so far, the pair performing at opposite ends of the stage. Last tour they’d been inseparable, one forever chasing the other across the stage; mouthing terms of endearment while stroking their guitars sleazily.

An image flashes into Steve’s mind, of Brian bare, panting.

_It meant nothing._

~~~

Brian reappears on stage with a cigarette in one hand; a glass in the other. He raises his drink to the crowd, then swiftly downs the liquor. He saunters up to small stand and fidgets with his kaoss pad; squares illuminating as he taps them, disjointed vocals layer over a pounding drum beat.

He returns to the microphone, watching as Stefan dances, arms wide. Brian thinks about those toned arms wrapped around him, about them stretched taught across bedding.

He delivers the lyrics with mock seriousness; marching on the spot before saluting to the crowd. Brian spins back to his electronic sampler, before snatching the mic and storming across the stage.

“ _You are like a hurricane, there’s calm in your eye,”_ Brian bounces on the stage edge, beckoning the crowd. The audience surges toward him; screaming, crying, grasping. He basks in the adoration, the waves of energy washing toward him. He turns toward Stefan, voice cracking as he sings.

_“I wanna love you, but I get blown away...”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, two long posts in two days!!  
> no updates for the next few days cause we should be donating/participating in activism for BLM this Juneteenth instead of reading smut about old men! :))


	19. Chapter 19

The show seems to happen around Stefan; occurring in both slow motion and hyper speed simultaneously. He performs on instinct; his body moving, voice singing but mind floating.

Stefan watches the audience, delighting in their enjoyment. He’s wary of their reaction to the newer songs; also conscious of his own inexperience. Stefan grins as those in the front row shout along to the words, astonished they already know the lyrics.

He slips to the side of the stage with the band, the crowd calling desperately for more. Stefan splashes his face with water, and then pours more into his mouth. He considers the pills in his pocket briefly, but his train of thought is interrupted. Hands take him by the hips, dragging him deeper into the darkness.

A palm slides up the damp fabric of his shirt, a hand wrapping around his neck. Stefan is pulled into a kiss, soft lips meeting his violently. He draws the other body closer; the connection grounds him, his senses overwhelmed. He slides his hand to the back of the man’s head, stroking the short hair with curiosity.

Stefan pulls back from Brian, peering at him in the darkness. He searches his face for malice or arrogance. Brian beams up at him; if anything he looks relieved. Stefan places a quick kiss on his forehead, reluctant to release his grip on the other man.

The room reverberates with coordinated clapping and stomping, starting softly and building with intensity, desperation. The sensation rumbles though Stefan, excitement building, adrenaline peaking. Brian wriggles away from him, dipping into his little baggie.

The singer drags his finger to his mouth with exaggerated motions, sucking slowly. Stefan laughs at this, ignoring the tiny voice at the back of him mind warning him away. _Stop, stop, stop..._ He buzzes with pleasure just from their contact; he needs this, needs to feel _something._

Brian offers the cocaine to Stefan and he accepts readily, rubbing the tart powder roughly into his gum. It feels like a veil lifting; his valium fog vanishing. Brian grins up at him; Stefan leans down to kiss him again. This time it feels profound, it feels perfect.

Stefan moves from the darkened wing out into the blinding spotlights; his heart soaring. He sits at the keyboard and watches adoringly as Brian flounces back onto the stage. The audience clamours, bodies raising in waves and pushing toward the band.

As Stefan plays he thinks of when they first wrote the song. Jarring riffs, razor sharp; popping, pounding percussion, helium vocals. Two wannabe punks, writing ballads of love, lust and loss. He remembers the beautiful boy with the acid tongue; androgynous and alien to the 90s Britpop scene.

He watches the man before him; the frantic lyrics now slowed, the long dark tresses lost. Brian serenades the room expertly; the bodies sway before them, starlight sparkling as hundreds of lighters are raised in devotion.

“Are you satisfied?” He asks, drawing shrieks and screams of ecstasy. At this Brian swings around to face Stefan; the bassist watches him with delight. Brian moves toward him, slinking his arm around Stefan’s neck. The audience roars again; Stefan struggles to focus as he plays the last tinkling notes of the song. 

Brian leads him from the stage, his eyes glowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorryyy, I'm sort of losing momentum/interest in editing this story but will keep trying to post updates on weekends! :)


	20. Chapter 20

The crowd bellows and brays, begging for more. Brian leans into Stefan, his body awash with relief. The Swede wraps his arms around the smaller man; Brian swoons. For the first time in days, he feels safe. The pair share another bump of coke and a cigarette, watching as stage hands prepare for the final encore. Steve stands further back in the wings, watching with an unreadable expression.

Brian turns away from the drummer, pulling Stefan’s arm around him. He closes his eyes and listens. A symphony of voices, a rumble of applause. His name echoes though the din; in desperate screams and excited shouts. Bodies push past, the crowd blares; the bassist nudges him.

Brian kisses Stefan quickly, and hurries to return to the stage. He struts out armed with his faithful Bitch, raising his arms as the spotlight finds him; bathing in the adoration of the audience. He flicks his cigarette and crushes it, nodding as Steve claps them into _Nancy Boy._

The audience erupts with excitement, leaping and crowd surfing. Brian sings with the well worn lyrics with a smirk, sardonic in his delivery. He watches Stefan spin, strut and sway his way across the stage; Stefan sidles up to Steve and grinds against his bass, drawing laughter from the drummer.

The crowd spurns Brian on; he strokes his guitar lasciviously, moaning into the microphone. Stefan turns his bass toward him, thrusting it crudely in the singer’s direction. The pair stroke frantically, teasingly; drawing cries of delight from the audience. They build up to the outro, Stefan bending backward and Brian rising on his toes, whining provocatively. Steve thuds his kit into a frenzy, swirling feedback fading.

The three men meet at the front of the stage and take their final bow before the sea of onlookers. Brian feels invincible; grinning as he looks out over the heaving mass. His body radiates with exhaustion and exhilaration. With a final wave, he strolls backstage, to be offered towels, drinks and congratulations by waiting crew. He accepts all three readily.

The walkway descends into chaos, roadies wheel cases and equipment past at breakneck speed. The most devoted of the fans can be heard still yelling and applauding, perhaps pleading for mementos. Brian wraps his towel around his neck, twisting into it to stretch. He leans against a wall and lights himself a cigarette, sighing deeply with satisfaction. He shakes hands and returns hugs as crew move up and down the hallway. He basks in the acknowledgements, also thrilled at his success with Stefan.

He spies Steve moving toward him, his head lowered as he towels his hair. The drummer has unbuttoned his shirt, his chest glistening with sweat. Brian reaches out to him, arms extended but Steve shirks him, offering only a clap on the shoulder. A thought crosses Brian’s mind but he chooses to ignore it, assuring himself the Steve is just tried, or hot.

“Not too bad, eh?” Brian offers as Steve flattens himself against the wall beside him.

“Not too shabby,” Steve agrees, grinning now. He folds forward, stretching the aches from his limbs. “Stef seemed good,” he adds, now reaching his arms behind his back. Brian nods, drawing deeply on his fag.

“But, uh,” Steve stops jostling, moving closer to Brian as his tone grows serious. “Do you really think it’s a good idea, you two,” he hesitates, perhaps wary of Brian’s reaction. The singer raises an eyebrow, prompting him. “With the baby coming, an’ all that...”

Brian wonders if _all that_ includes drunkenly fucking only nights ago. He bites his tongue, in too good a mood to argue or analyse the situation.

“I don’t know,” he admits, “But the tour’s only a month and the baby,” Brian exhales shakily at just the word, “it’s not due til October.”

At this Steve scoffs, shaking his head. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, turning and walking away. Steve pauses, turning on his heel and storming toward Brian.

“You have no idea what I would give to have spent more time with my daughter.” Steve’s eyes burn with rage. “To have had more time with her mother, maybe even make things work... You can’t imagine what I’ve sacrificed for this band. Grow the fuck up, Brian. You have a family now, let Stef move on.”

Brian shakes his head in disbelief; he offers Steve a smug look. “Oh, Stevie, the family man, huh?” He smirks, refusing to back down. “You haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“A clue?” Steve sneers, “I have a clue about Stefan, out of his head on pills, like a fucking zombie. I have a clue about how fucked this band is without him.”

Brian forces a laugh, determined not to let Steve see his hurt.

“Do you even care?” The drummer shakes his head, exasperated. Brian persists; glaring, jaw set. Steve’s tone drops, defeated. “You can’t just _take_ what you want from people...”

Brian falters, and reaches a hand forward; Steve slaps it away.

“Get your shit together, Brian, before you ruin everything,” Steve looks at him with concern.

Brian’s temper flares; rage igniting inside him like a spark to gasoline. He steps forward, sneering at Steve.

“Mind your own fucking business,” he hisses, “This is _my_ band, _my_ choices, _my_ life-”

Steve turns from him, hand raised as he walks away.

Brian seethes; he turns on his heel and stalks down the hallway, hunting.


	21. Chapter 21

Stefan runs his fingers though his hair, wiping the sweat from his brow. He wanders down the walkway, and is ushered into side room, brimming with friendly faces. Stefan chats with the crew; someone offers him a shot and he raises his glass in celebration. He searches the room for Brian but can’t spot him. A buffet is wheeled into the room, the cart immediately swarmed by hungry men.

Stefan waves to Bill, gesturing that he’ll be back soon, and slips from the busy room. He weaves in and out of foot traffic, grinning at the comments and compliments he receives from the crew. He wonders if Brian had nicked off for a shower; he thinks immediately of joining him. Stefan peeks into storerooms and around corners, wondering where the dressing rooms have disappeared to. Just as he’s thinking of turning back, he swings around a corner and almost into Brian.

“Food’s out,” Stefan says, striding forward. The singer simply beckons him ahead, a glint in his eye. Brian takes his hand and backs into the dressing room; Stefan’s heart flutters with anticipation. Once inside Brian pushes him heavily against the wall, the force catching Stefan by surprise. They stumble in the darkness; mouths meeting in a ravenous kiss. Brian pins Stefan against the wall, his hands hold his wrists to the side; his body firm against the bassist’s. He kisses Stefan greedily, pausing only to take ragged breaths.

Stefan’s body radiates with bliss; he sinks into his captor, enraptured. His wrists are released and fingers move to his shirt, unbuttoning roughly; Brian’s lips are still on his. Stefan leans back slightly, his hands meeting Brian’s in an attempt to assist. The singer pulls back, his breath hot against Stefan’s cheek.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” His tone is low, but hesitant, not suggestive.

“Mmhmm,” Stefan murmurs, unable to vocalise just how intense his desire is.

“You’re sure?” Brian asks breathily, dragging his fingertips down Stefan’s chest. Stefan moans a positive response, before pressing his mouth back against the other man’s. He slowly unbuttons Brian’s shirt, fingers skirting the edges of fabric.

Stefan slides his hands beneath the damp fabric, pushing Brian’s shirt up over his shoulders. Brian shivers against him as Stefan skims his fingertips over his arms.

“Tell me,” Brian mutters, dragging his shirt off.

“Hmm?” Stefan queries, his focus lost entirely.

“Tell me this is what you want.”

Stefan watches as he shakes his arm from his sleeve and tosses the shirt aside. He glides his fingertips up Brian’s bare arms, and down his sides; delighting in the resulting ticklish wriggle. Stefan wraps an arm around Brian, drawing him back in. He kisses Brian’s cheek, then his ear.

“Tell me,” Brian pleads, melting into his arms.

“I... **_am_**... telling... you...” Stefan says, his words interspersed with more quick kisses, trailing from Brian’s neck to his shoulder. “Do you require written consent?” The Swede teases, spinning the smaller man so he is now pressed against the wall.

Stefan is transfixed on the man before him; driven by lust not logic. He doesn’t allow his mind to wander; his only concern is feeling good. Brian writhes against him, stretching up to capture his lips.

They kiss hungrily; driven by adrenaline and their dearth of affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more next weekend unless I magically have time! <3


	22. Chapter 22

Brian slinks a hand down Stefan’s chest, fingertips sliding to meet his waistband. He pauses, a persistent thought bouncing around his brain. He thinks of how it felt to be ignored earlier. Of the emptiness in Stefan’s eyes, the bitter chill in his voice. The bassist pushes against Brian, urging him.

Brian looks up at Stefan, searching his face; there’s warmth and wanting. There’s excitement; a light behind his eyes. Brian raises a hand to Stefan’s cheek, seeking familiarity, clarity. Stefan swiftly plants a kiss on his palm, grinning against Brian’s open hand.

Brian pulls him back down roughly, needing all of Stefan while he can have him. He laces his fingers though the Swede’s hair, yanking; needing him closer, more tangible. Brian snakes his tongue inside Stefan’s mouth; rubbing, lapping. He rises up, dragging his crotch against the other man’s, delighting in Stefan’s moans. Brian repeats the movement, slowing each time to emphasis the motion. He inches backwards, then raises himself up onto the counter, legs wrapping tightly around Stefan’s.

Stefan leans over him, tipping him backward gently. Miscellaneous items tumble to the floor as Brian shifts back; clattering, smashing. Brian traces the bassist’s erection, fingertips skating lightly over the fabric. He rubs with his palm, delighting as he feels Stefan’s dick growing harder. Stefan gasps against his mouth, his grip tightening against Brian’s back.

Brian toys with Stefan’s fly, inching the zip down little by little. Stefan’s hand finds his hip, sliding lower to clasp his arse. He drags his hand roughly up and down Brian’s thigh in anticipation, perhaps attempting to tease him back. Brian takes Stefan’s cock in his fist and strokes it slowly; he grins into the kiss as he torments his lover.

Stefan mirrors his actions, moving a little faster; Brian pulls away from him, whimpering. His eyes meet Stefan’s; he searches for doubt, for hate. Stefan’s face shows no such feelings, lit only with desire.

“You okay?” Stefan asks, narrowing his gaze as he peers into the darkness.

“Never better,” Brian quips, grinning for show. “D’you have a condom?”

“Wasn’t exactly on my shopping list...” Stefan replies sarcastically, reminding Brian again of their fight; the feeling stings his heart. Stefan wriggles from his hold and paws clumsily at the wall, eventually hitting a light switch. The fluorescent tube above them flickers to life, casting an eerie glow over the room. Brian squints into the light, spinning himself on the bench as he digs though the beauty items. He pauses to glance at himself in the mirror; not immediately recognising the man before him. A man with a spiteful haircut, a spiteful heart.

 _I’m sorry,_ he pleads, looking past his reflection and at Stefan instead. Brian decides then and there that he’ll find a way to fix things; with Stefan, Steve... himself.

He watches Stefan rifle though their luggage; the bassist shakes his head and shrugs. Brian swings himself off the bench and strides toward the door. Stefan watches him, confusion clouding his face. Brian flicks the lock on the door handle and turns on his heel; Stefan’s face now a mixture of horror and amusement. Brian thinks about taking him by the cock but instead grabs his hand, leading him to the cubicle at the back of the room.

Brian brushes back the plastic curtain and reaches into the shadows, pipes rumbling as he twists the taps. He turns back to Stefan, walking his wet fingers up his torso. Brian wills Stefan toward him, this most familiar situation now feeling forbidden. The bassist obliges, pressing his body against Brian’s, his lips to the smaller man’s forehead.

Brian sighs, it feels like home.


	23. Chapter 23

Relief washes over Stefan like rain as Brian sinks into him. Stefan inhales deeply; the musky scent mixed with perfume is so entirely _him_ ; so instantly grounding. Steam wafts from the shower cubicle, beckoning them; he nudges Brian forward. He helps the smaller man wriggle out of his jeans, clapping a hand to his behind as the skin is revealed. Brian shoots him a petulant look and Stefan repeats the action, harder this time.

“Jesus, Stef,” Brian mutters, peeling the damp denim down his legs. He pauses and looks up at the taller man, “Help?”

“Maybe I’d prefer you immobilized,” Stefan teases, helping Brian kick off the jeans. Brian crinkles his nose at him in mock irritation.

“Get in, ya little skin-head,” Stefan orders, slapping him on the arse once more. At this Brian cackles, flipping the bird as he steps into the shower. The bassist unbuttons his own slacks and shakes them off easily; he yanks off his shoes and socks and pushes aside the plastic shower curtain. Brian squirts a stream of water from puckered lips directly into his face.

“You little shit!” Stefan swaggers forward and wraps him into a bear hug; Brian twists and turns but there is no escape in the confined space. He giggles as Stefan squeezes him; the Swede grins, taking in his delight. Brian relaxes against him, reaching up and wrapping his arms around Stefan’s neck.

Stefan leans into the kiss, the shower sending streams of water coursing down his back. Brian presses into him, the sensation of his hard dick against Stefan’s leg arousing him. He slides his hand from Brian’s waist, kneading his behind firmly; drawing a soft whimper from the smaller man. Stefan drags his hand up Brian’s thigh, fingertips skating teasingly slow. Brian pushes against him again, moaning into his mouth.

Stefan takes Brian’s dick in his hand, stroking lazily. The smaller man rises up on his toes, encouraging him. Stefan feels an arm tighten around his neck; a hand traces his torso, sinking downward. He sighs as Brian walks his fingertips down his navel, pulling back slightly to watch the singer. Brian watches him back, his pupils impossibly wide; the blue of his eyes glowing in the dim.

Stefan groans as Brian finally grasps his cock, leaning in to take the other man’s lips in his own. He copies Brian’s pace, stroking with increasing desperation. Stefan closes his eyes; vaguely aware of the running water, soothing; pouring like the waves of pleasure coursing though him. 

The pair kiss urgently, Brian’s teeth graze his lip as Stefan gasps for air. Brian arches beneath him, his breath shaky against Stefan’s cheek. His voice breaks and Stefan knows he’s close; he pumps harder, delighting in the sounds leaving the singer’s lips. Nails sink into the back of Stefan’s neck and Brian throws his head back, howling blissfully. The actions send Stefan spiralling toward orgasm; Brian strokes him with renewed vigour. Stefan moans, engulfed by waves of ecstasy.

Sated, Stefan eases himself away from Brian, meaning to catch his breath. Brian slinks an arm around his waist; his head against the bassist’s chest.

“Wait,” he whispers, hesitating to look up at Stefan. “Just, stay here a minute.” Stefan wraps himself around the smaller man, feeling Brian relax against him. He’s transported back in time to a moment long ago; a time before conflict, a time of excitement and exploration. He plants a kiss on Brian’s forehead; the singer glances up at him coyly.

“Stay,” Brian murmurs again, nuzzling in against Stefan’s chest.

Stefan smiles wistfully; _if only it were that easy_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, posted these out of order so sorry if you read it before I fixed it!! More soon! <3


	24. Chapter 24

Another round of drinks; another joint, another joke. Steve relaxes into his seat, laughing at Bill’s Spanish accent, as he attempts to pronounce destinations from a tourist guide.

“You bloody try then,” Bill huffs, flinging the book at Steve. The drummer managers to catch the missile between clapped palms, inches away from his face.

“ _Muchas gracias_ , Billbo!” Steve says, thumbing though the guide book, drawing amusement at his own poor accent. He skims the headlines with waning interest, his thoughts still stuck on Brian.

 _Do I have any right to tell him what to do?_ Steve takes a swig from his plastic cup, furrowing his brow. Another thought argues; _he made me a part of this when-_

“Boring, Steve?” Xavior asks, “Let’s see...” he plucks another tome from the pile in the corner of the room, eyebrows raised suggestively. Steve puts on a smile, attempting to ignore the argument inside his mind.

“Did someone know we were coming?” Xavior dangles the book in front of Bill, entitled _Gay Chile._

The crew chuckle and Bill takes the book enthusiastically, miming putting on reading glasses then licking his thumb to turn the page with exaggerated flourish. Xavior takes a bottle of spirits from the table and moves around the room, topping up drinks as Bill reads aloud.

“Bien-ven-i-do a Santiago,” he tries to keep a straight face as others mock his pronunciation, “or, welcome to Santiago, the conservative, Catholic city with a thriving gay underground.” Bill pauses to take a drink.

“Sanitago-”

“ _San-tee-ah-go,_ ” Xavior corrects, smirking around a cigarette.

“ _Sun-TEE-ah-GO_ ,” Bill enunciates, “boasts a number of bars, discotheques, and saunas catering to a homosexual clientele.” He squints at the page and holds the book out to a crew member, chuckling at a photo.

“And just where _are_ our discotheque homosexuals?” Xavior quips, gesturing to the men seated around the room. Steve’s anger is reignited; his thoughts are of Brian’s arrogance _, selfish little shit_. He thinks of his own daughter, her childhood only available to him in glimpses, arranged visitations. He thinks of all the moments missed, the memories not made; her pre-teenage tone in calls now brisk, disinterested.

“Have they left already, Steve?”

The drummer tips his cup up, taking a moment to compose himself.

“Dunno,” he offers coolly, standing to refill his drink. _You’re the fucking manager,_ he thinks, _isn’t it **your** job to know?_

Attention has turned back to Bill and his book as the group begins to make plans.

“Here it is, _Barrio Bellavista_ ,” he rolls his ‘r’s with concentrated effort. “In the evening, Bellavista pulses to the beat of music pouring from its many discos and bars. The district is famed for its electro-gay parties, drag performance and all night discos-”

“Oh, bueno!” Brian purrs, entering the room as if summoned. He grins as he approaches Bill, falling into his lap with dramatic flair. Steve rolls his eyes, noting the singer’s fresh change of clothing.

He watches from the corner of his eye as Stefan walks in; the Swede has also changed outfits. He attempts to appear casual but Steve notes how he can barely suppress his smile.

Steve fumes silently, ignoring the group discussion about clubs and pubs. He trawls through his feelings of guilt and regret; he nurses his lament, attempting to convince himself he is in the right.

“Hey,” Steve is shaken from his thoughts as Stefan takes the seat beside him, the same goofy grin plastered across his face.

“Hey yourself,” Steve forces a smile back, raising his cup in half-hearted congratulations.

“Not a bad start to the tour,” Stefan says, squeezing Steve’s arm in excitement.

“Sure.” He glances across the room to see Brian watching him intently. For a second, Steve senses vulnerability, fear. He meets Brian’s gaze but the singer falters, turning back to Bill.

He looks back to the bassist; Stefan’s joy is palpable. Steve sighs, trying to push the doubts and concerns from his mind.

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” he says at last, offering Stefan a genuine smile.

“Thanks,” Stefan hesitates a moment, “And thanks, too, for the other day...”

“I hated seeing you like that,” Steve surprises himself with the admission; Stefan raises a brow but then nods knowingly. They sit quietly for a moment, each mulling over their feelings and fears.

“He’s not a bad person,” Stefan says softly, eyes cast downward; seeming to predict the drummer’s argument. Guilt stabs deep into Steve’s gut; the truth threatening to bleed out.

Steve takes a long swig, finishing his drink. The liquor burns its way down his throat, giving him time to craft a response.

“I know,” he finally offers, jostling Stefan’s shoulder, unable to take that last shred of hope away from him.


	25. Chapter 25

The band and crew tumble out of taxis and into the night, a small crowd gathering on the street corner. They pass a vodka bottle between them, other opting to share a spliff. Brian scopes the multicoloured building facades, peering into a darkened window to admire the vintage clothing inside. He calls Stefan over, pointing out a lanky mannequin dressed in leather chaps and a pink feather boa.

“It’s you,” Brian teases, linking arms with the bassist. Stefan leans against the window, a hand curled against the pane. He splutters with laughter once he spots the dummy.

“Think those days have well and truly passed,” Stefan says, jostling Brian. They move slowly down the street, looking into each shopfront as they wait for the rest of the group to arrive.

“I reckon you had that one,” Stefan points to a purple crop top, emblazoned with ‘ _I wanna be Barbie, that bitch has everything!’._

“Me, purple? Not fucking likely,” Brian raises an eyebrow and glares. Stefan gestures to another; ‘ _I am the American dream’_. Brian simply looks at him admonishingly.

“Aha!” Stefan grins, waving toward another display. This t-shirt is black, the logo printed in pink glitter; ‘ _Bitch formerly known as princess’_. Brian considers it with a wry smile. He thinks of himself in younger years; it feels like a lifetime ago.

“Urgh,” Brian groans, leaning back against the window and lighting himself a cigarette. He pouts theatrically, “You’re making me feel fucking old.”

Stefan plucks the fag from his fingers and takes a drag.

“Maybe,” he teases in a sing-song voice, “that’s... because... you-”

“Don’t you **dare** , Stefan Alexander Bo Osdal, or I’ll have your bloody bollocks for breakfast.”

The Swede chuckles, passing back the cigarette.

“Christ, thought you were my fucking father for a moment there,” The cheeky grin slips from Stefan’s lips, his thoughts momentarily shifted. He swiftly smiles again, perhaps hoping Brian hadn’t noticed. “Though that’s hardly a threat now, is it?”

Brian’s thoughts too have turned to the ‘f’ word, though not the one he’d prefer. He slides an arm around Stefan, drawing him closer. _Now_ , he persuades his inebriated mind, _this is now, here with Stef... one last month._

“Hmmm?” Brian asks, wrapping a hand around Stefan’s neck, forcing himself to focus on the man before him.

“I think you were telling me about breakfast,” Stefan says, swooping in for a quick kiss.

Brian grins up at this bandmate, ignoring the sinking sensation in his gut. 


	26. Chapter 26

Stefan watches as the last stragglers arrive, plus a few unfamiliar faces accompanying the tour manager. He assumes they’re locals from the venue. Stefan watches Brian dip into his coke, shaking his head as the baggie is offered. He feels somewhat subdued, now that the adrenaline and elation of the gig has passed. Stefan plans to drink away the gnawing feeling inside, the one reminding him that this relationship is only temporary.

The group moves en masse down the pavement, one of the strangers has taken the lead. The pair dawdles behind the group, but Brian pulls him forward, attempting to hear their unofficial tour guide’s explanation. 

Stefan catches something about a poet and strains to listen, certain he’s misheard. He follows Brian deeper into the crowd.

“End of the history lesson,” the stranger says, “Now for drinking and dancing!” At this the group cheers. “We have drag over here, like a cabaret,” he waves toward huge stone building, neon lettering glowing with the name ‘ _F_ _austo’._ “Or reggaeton here,” he gestures toward an alleyway, beats booming as they approach. The group talk amongst themselves, unable to make a decision. The tour guide leads them further into the bohemian neighbourhood, offering more mainstream bars and clubs. A roadie races up to the group waving a poster in his hand.

“Afterparty!” He cries, flapping the paper like a prize. The tour manager snatches it from him, chortling.

“El efecto posterior…” the stranger reads, as the poster is held aloft. It features an old image of Brian, heavily edited with psychedelic graphics.

“The arse effect...?!” Steve offers, sniggering behind a hand.

“The _after_ effect,” the stranger corrects, “it says it’s ‘an unofficial Placebo after-party’.”

All at once the group turns to look at Brian. Stefan watches on with amusement. Brian shakes his head slowly, eyes wide.

“No fuckin’ way.”


	27. Chapter 27

Brian takes in the group around him, each waiting and watching. Though it emboldens him to know he has the final say, he feels as if this decision may have already been made.

Steve moves toward the tour manager, peering with interest at the poster. Brian shoots him a look of warning. Steve continues to ignore him; dread rises inside Brian.

“Matias, _drag_ _banda tributo,_ is that...?” The drummer grins wickedly at him.

“NO, no, no, no-” Brian waves his hands at the suggestion, desperate to dismiss the others. He offers the new guy a pleading look, hoping to discourage him.

“Yeah, this is the alternative club, they have bands sometimes,” Matias says, inspecting the poster. “Punk room, 80s , electro. This one, it’s like the retro place, uh, kitsch.”

Brian grasps Stefan’s arm, grovelling for back up.

“Might be fun?” The bassist says, bracing away from Brian.

“Stef!” Brian swats him in a mock outburst. “I trusted you!” His stomach curdles, cringing at what he expects to be an enormously embarrassing event.

The group hesitates around him, not needing his permission but for some reason waiting for it anyway.

“Fine,” he finally huffs, shaking his head. The crew roars around him and Matias leads the group further down the street.

Someone starts the pre-show chant again, shouting _‘PLA-CE-BO’_ as they approach the venue; a chorus of voices join in, men nudging Brian and Stefan. The singer drags himself forward, his reluctance lifting slightly as the chant grows louder. He sneaks another bump of coke and feels his ego inflating; his mood lifting dramatically as they enter the club. 

The roadie who first found the poster races up to rub Brian on the head. “Love ya!” he teases, before dashing into the darkened entrance.

“I’ll kill ya!” Brian calls out, in the same sweetly sarcastic tone.


	28. Chapter 28

As promised, the club is huge, with passageways leading to upper and basement levels. The main room of the ground floor hosts a throng of party-goers, crowded around a makeshift stage. The electronic beat startles Stefan, he laughs as he recognises the distorted tune as one he had written. He yanks Brian into the room, drawn forward by something like a morbid curiosity. The singer whines, attempting to drag him back into the darkness of the hallway.

“Stefff...” He grimaces up at Stefan, eyes pleading.

“Just one song?” Stefan barters, leaning in against Brian. The smaller man pouts up at him; his expression turns to amusement as he catches the butchered cover version.

“One,” Brian mouths, holding up a finger in warning. 

Stefan leads them to a pillar at the side of the room, the area low-lit but close to the stage. He’s wary of being spotted by fans but is determined to see this tribute performance. The curtains part to reveal the drag act, apparently returning to the stage after a costume change. Stefan gawps as the lead queen fronts the stage; Brian blinks in bewilderment. She spots a black, bouffant style wig, inflatable breasts, platform combat boots and a very little black dress.

“Sucker love is heaven-sent,” she purrs into the microphone, the trilled ‘r’ reverberating. Stefan scoffs, half impressed she’s not miming as per most drag shows. He glances down at Brian, chuckling at his look of sheer horror.

“Exactly how I remember it,” he teases, his mouth against Brian’s ear. The singer sneers up at him. Stefan leans back down to peck Brian’s temple but the smaller man dodges him.

“Every me, and every you, every meeee...” The queen gestures to the crowd, encouraging them to join her. Stefan giggles at her nasal falsetto, turning to Brian only to receive an elbow to his ribs.

Brian clutches his arm and points to the far side of the stage, cackling. A drag king with a yellow mohawk wig struts up the stairs; topless, wearing only leather pants and precariously placed plasters. He grinds against an inflatable toy guitar, hips swinging wildly. Now it’s Stefan who’s jaw drops, mortified. Brian slinks an arm around his waist, his hand squeezing Stefan’s pec.

“Like I’m seeing double,” Brian shouts, his laughter ringing out. Stefan shakes his head as he watches, his cheeks reddening. His embarrassment soon overwhelms his amusement. 

“I need a drink,” he says, moving for the bar.

“Wait,” Brian calls, “what if there’s a Steve...?” Stefan turns back to him, an eyebrow raised in question. Brian beams up at him playfully.

Stefan returns, wrapping his arms around the smaller man, chin resting on his head. He squeezes his arms tightly around Brian and grins as the smaller man wriggles back against him. Stefan zones out from the show, the twisted nostalgia leading him to contemplation. He tells himself to commit these details to memory; the way the singer fits so snugly in his grasp, his scent, the way his hair feels against Stefan’s cheek. He smiles sadly, wondering if there’s a word for missing someone before you’ve actually lost them.

The act ends with the drag performers leaping into the audience, the queen offering the mic around. At this Brian shoots Stefan a look of exaggerated panic; the bassist nods and leads them to the back of the room with hasty strides.

_One Brian is well and truly enough._


	29. Chapter 29

Steve slaps his thigh, laughing so hard his eyes have filled with tears. The group around him chuckles and snorts, riveted by the surreal performance.

“Who’s got a camera?” The tour manager asks desperately, between giggles. A few of the crew hold up their cell phones, attempting to snap photos of the show. Steve glances around the room, trying to spot the real Stefan; he knows the guy desperately needs a laugh.

“Rude!” Xavior shouts into his ear, slinging his arm around the drummer. “Where’s the rest of us?”

Steve points to a queen side of stage, wearing a PVC body suit but yet to affix her wig.

“Bill?” He kids and Xavior sniggers.

“Bit like being back on Velvet Goldmine,” the keyboardist jokes.

“I dunno, few more tits tonight,” Steve nods toward the drag king straddling the inflatable guitar.

“Ha, dibs on ‘Stef’ then!” Xavior teases. The performers bow to the crowd, taking in the applause. Steve throws Xavior a look of amused disapproval, then turning back to watch the drag queen wave and strut from the stage.

“Better arse than Brian’s,” Xavior offers, ribbing his bandmate. Steve frowns slightly, the doppelganger triggering memories of a much younger Brian; frocked up and face full of slap. Dainty yet dangerous, Steve had always felt a protective affection for the diminutive singer. His feelings of brotherly love now twisted, turning to disgust. 

The tour manager sidles up to the pair, urging them forward while waving a camera encouragingly.

Steve shakes his head, chuckling as the crew pushes him forward. They weave though the crowd to the side of the stage; Steve grimaces as the performers recognise him. They compliment him in broken English, readily posing for photos. Xavior joins them, throwing his arms up and grinning cheekily. The performers press against Steve, chests both real and plastic against his. He steals a glance and notes the drag king has _LESO_ scrawled across his chest in red lipstick. _Too bad, Xav._

The tour manager herds more crew into the backstage space; Bill lingers behind him cackling, ignoring the calls to join the photo. 

“Cheers, uh, gracias,” Steve offers, shaking hands with the performers before moving back to the tour manager. Steve peers over his shoulder to get a peek at the photos on the camera’s small digital screen.

“Straight to the webpage,” he jokes, grinning at Steve. The drummer smiles back sarcastically.

“Straight to my nightmares,” Steve replies, scoffing.


	30. Chapter 30

Brian nods gently to the pounding beat, leaning back against the wall in the darkened walkway. He steals a glance to the left and right before helping himself to his baggie, pushing his knuckle to his nostril with practised finesse. He lights himself a cigarette, bored with waiting. He watches the smoke rise and moves his hand slowly, painting patterns with the fumes. Brian finally glimpses an unmistakable tall figure approaching him; he grins. He pulls Stefan toward him; the bassist kisses him quickly, leaning over to shout into his ear. The warmth of vodka tingles on his lips as Stefan pulls away.

“Punk, downstairs, electro, upstairs,” Stefan pauses, attempting to recount additional information.

“And?” Brian prompts, waving to pulsing lights at the end of the hallway. Stefan shrugs, sipping at his drink. Brian rolls his eyes at him, pushing off the wall.

As they approach the room Brian recognises the end of a _Kaiser Chiefs_ song, fading into _The Strokes_. Stefan hesitates as Brian pulls him forward. The Swede nods toward a flashing projection of the British Flag, the words ‘c _arrete_ _británica’_ overlaid.

“So?” Brian mouths, yanking Stefan’s arm, his shoulders shifting to the beat. Stefan now rolls his eyes, nodding from the projection to his bandmate.

“So?” Brian asks again, grinning smugly this time.

“Glutton for punishment,” Stefan says, leaning in against his ear. Brian chuckles in response, leading him onto the dance floor. Brian shimmies to the beat, encouraging the taller man. Perhaps there is a perverse part of him that does want to get recognised; his attitude toward fans varies wildly between repulsion and amusement. Tonight he feels full of cocaine confidence; he wants eyes on him, attention and affection. 

A synth heavy track fades in and Stefan loosens up, his free hand waving, hips swinging. Brian grasps his waist and dances against him. The track fades into a guitar riff, Brian grins as he recognises it. He bops along to the beat, mouthing the chorus at Stefan.

“ _I bet that you look good on the dance floor,”_ Brian beams up at the bassist. Stefan shakes his head at him, laughing, but moving happily to the song nonetheless. The room fills around them, bringing them closer inch by inch. The next song is slower; Brian entwines himself around Stefan, the pair sway gently, leaning in for intermittent kisses. The track speeds up into a key change, adding a pounding bass beat. Brian feels Stefan’s fingers against his back, tapping out the rhythm. He reaches up for another kiss, melding his mouth with Stefan’s.

Brian grins into the kiss, wondering who’s watching; has his haircut granted him anonymity? The next song is faster, guitar driven, the drum beat bought to the top of the mix. A _Bloc Party_ remix, he assumes. Stefan sways him from side to side, his lips still pressed to Brian’s. As they move together Brian can’t help but think of all the ways Stefan differs from Celeste. His quiet gentleness to her brash passion; his cool introversion to her extroverted warmth. _Don’t make me choose,_ he pleads internally.

As if sensing his inner conflict Stefan pulls away; Brian hopes his face doesn’t betray his guilt. The Swede mimes drinking with his empty cup, and nods toward the bar. Brian shoos him away with his best grin, missing him immediately.

_Are you hoping for a miracle?_


	31. Chapter 31

Steve rolls his eyes but follows Xavior to the dance floor; his grip on Bill’s sleeve unrelenting as he drags the guitarist along unwillingly. They’d started upstairs, slamming shots as reggaeton remixes blasted. Steve had watched the dance floor fill with what must have been models and professional dancers; he’d gawked, feeling both impressed and intimidated. As the group began to feel more and more out of their depth, the crew had split, moving drunkenly to the lower levels of the club.

Steve looks around the crowded room, surprised to recognise the track playing. _Fancy coming halfway round the world to dance to some indie set from Manchester,_ he thinks, rolling his eyes again. He and guys jostle one another, singing along to the songs they know and taking turns to retrieve drinks for the group. The trio welcome roadies and crew, their corner of the dance floor slowly filling with familiar faces. _This is getting embarrassing_ , Steve thinks, wondering how the hell he’s meant to pull in a gay bar, surrounded by a dozen men.

He pushes though the group, headed for the bathroom when he’s stopped by a vaguely familiar face. The man smiles, _the guy from earlier?_ Steve wonders, his memories groggy.

“Who is this band?” The man asks, leaning in against Steve. _Mathew? Mat... something._

“Uh, Interpol?” The drummer guesses, meaning to brush past. The man places a hand on Steve’s shoulder, leaning closer still. Steve hesitates, not wanting to seem rude but certainly not wanting to give this guy the wrong impression.

“You know where your singer is? Dealer is here now.”

Steve shrugs and offers a half-smile; he turns to scan the room, doubtful that Brian is still even at the club after the drag performance. _Matias!_ The name pops into his head as the Chilean squeezes his shoulder. He’s a slight man, a similar smirk to Brian’s but with a deeper complexion and ringlets bleached blonde.

“You need anything?” Matias asks, leaning in again. An image of Brian flickers into Steve’s mind; his hand on his shoulder, his body thrusting, his eyes burning.

“No,” Steve says, the blunt tone apparently surprising Matias. He pulls back and regards Steve curiously. Steve forces a smile, “Sorry, Matias,” he raises an imaginary glass, “I’m good, on the turps tonight.”

“Call me Mati,” the Chilean offers, his hand sliding down Steve’s arm to take his elbow, “Let’s drink then.”

Steve wavers once more, trying to keep his tone friendly.

“Uh, _Mati_ ,” he tries to think of a polite way to dismiss the advances but decides idioms may add to the confusion. “I’m not gay,” he says at last, slinking his arm gently from Matias.

The Chilean laughs, then looks at Steve with eyebrows raised.

“The gay guy in the gay band in the _gay bar,_ he is not gay?”

 _Not gay,_ the thought swirls around Steve’s mind, _not gay; just occasionally very fucking stupid._

“Sorry!” He laughs, offering Matias an exaggerated shrug with palms raised. 

“Sure, Mr _Macha,_ ” Matias teases, “A platonic drink with my straight friend, then? I want to show off a rockstar to my friends here.”

“Okay,” Steve concedes, “Just tell me you have some female friends?”

Matias simply grins, leading Steve to the bar.


	32. Chapter 32

Stefan sways from side to side, nodding as an electro track fades in. He glances out across the room, trying to spot Brian in the crowd. He turns slowly, trying to recall the landmark he had intended to use to trace his way back to the singer. The size of the room somehow surprises him; his chest tightens as he watches the crowd ebb and flow around him. Stefan turns back the bar and focuses on the choices before him; _vodka, rum, whiskey?_ He’s drawn to handmade sign listing the night’s specials.

_The Bitters End_ – _Pisco sour y amargos_

_Tasting Men – Caipirinha y ron_

_Piña Morning – Terremoto y granadina_

Stefan stifles a giggle as he approaches the bar, tempted to order one of the themed cocktails. A barkeeper finally nods at him, watching curiously as she awaits his order.

“Piña morning, please, uh, gracias,” he says, pointing toward the sign. The barkeeper grins, apparently spotting him as a tourist. Stefan passes over a crisp bill and watches her scoop sorbet into a ridiculously large glass.

“Careful,” she warns, passing over the candy coloured beverage. Stefan thanks her, then sips cautiously at the beverage; he’s startled by its sweetness. “Slowly!” The barkeeper calls as he squeezes though the mass of waiting patrons. Stefan wonders if she’s teasing him, taking another drink from the rosy red cocktail.

He peers out over the room, pushing into the crowded dance floor with his glass held aloft. Stefan scopes the dance floor for some beacon of Brian, unable to determine the direction he came from. He presses on, shifting to the tempo of the music as he weaves though the crowd.

At last, someone grabs him from behind; he spins around, immediately relieved. Brian beams back at him, raising his eyebrows as he spots the cocktail.

“Jesus Christ,” he exclaims, before leaning in to take a sip. He shivers at the sweetness, looking back at Stefan in amusement.

“Placebo themed,” Stefan explains, leaning in against Brian’s ear. At this the singer cackles, shaking his head at Stefan.

“Dork,” Brian mouths at him, still shimmying to the music. Stefan nods, grinning cheekily.

“Fan boy,” Brian shouts this time, stealing another sip from the giant glass. Stefan simply nods again, still smiling. Delight fizzes inside him; he is uncertain if the giddiness has been brought on by the sickly sweet drink, or by his proximity to Brian. Either way, Stefan’s mind is at peace; for now he feels comfortable with their unspoken arrangement.

They dance to their own beat; Stefan takes Brian’s hand in his and swings his arm, drawing him in for an awkward twirl. Brian grimaces but follows his lead, chuckling as he spins.

~

Eventually Stefan finishes the enormous drink, he leaves Brian briefly to place the huge glass on a cluttered ledge. The room wobbles slightly as he moves; he sways as floor shifts beneath him. As soon as he returns to the singer, he wraps himself around the smaller man, anchoring himself in place. Brian slides a hand down to Stefan’s behind, squeezing. The bassist wriggles against him, then pulls back to watch his partner. Brian wears an expression of exaggerated innocence, fluttering his eyelashes and grinning goofily.

“Dork,” Stefan says, leaning forward clumsily. Brian simply reaches around to put his other hand on his arse. 

Stefan places his hands on either side of Brian’s head, pulling him forward to plant a kiss on the top of his head.

“Bloody idiot,” he says, his forehead pressed to Brian’s.

“You are,” Brian teases, squeezing his rear once more.

“I am,” Stefan agrees, smiling knowingly, “Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uuhhh, i'm so sorry native speakers, please correct my chilean/spanish!!


	33. Chapter 33

Brian leans into Stefan, swaying to the beat of music. The indie tunes have moved into dance and electro; genres that would usually have Stefan dancing like a maniac. Instead, the Swede has slowed, swinging gently against Brian, bending for intermittent kisses. They move at the wrong tempo as the crowd bounces around them, laser lighting flittering patterns across the room.

It’s not until Stefan’s knees buckle that Brian realises something is wrong; he clasps the taller man as he steadies himself. Brian pulls Stefan though the swarm of dancers, moving awkwardly as the bassist resists him.

“C’mon baby,” Brian persuades gently while tugging roughly at Stefan’s arm. Stefan lunges forward and Brian uses this momentum to back him against a wall.

“Oh?” Stefan murmurs, head lolling. Brian can’t help but smile as he props him up against the wall.

“What?” Stefan pouts at him with childish indignation.

“You,” Brian wraps his arms around Stefan’s waist. “You’re pissed as a fart.” He pecks Stefan’s lips lightly; his mouth stained red from the offending cocktail. Stefan giggles, apparently amused by the phrase. He holds Brian’s gaze, perhaps an attempt to smoulder, blinking as he tries to focus.

“God, I just wanna-” Stefan head nods forward and Brian struggles to push his weight back against the wall. He eases the Swede down as his knees collapse beneath him, bracing against him before steadying him downwards. Brian sinks to the floor beside him, exhaling heavily with the effort.

“Jesus Christ,” Brian mumbles, sliding himself beside Stefan so that the taller man can lean against him. “You great, big, hulking, enormous,” he shoves his shoulder against Stefan’s arm and pushes, bracing against his weight, “gargantuan, giant of a-”

Stefan sighs, nuzzling in against Brian. The singer groans as he considers his next move. He’s not used to being the practical one; it’s usually Stefan who plays mother hen. He wonders how Stefan used to get him home; scooping him out of gutters, pacifying Brian and those his big mouth had enraged.

_Why are you so good to me?_ Brian wonders, squeezing Stefan’s hand gently.

He knows he needs help to get Stefan back to the hotel but he doesn’t like the idea of leaving the bassist alone here in the dark. Brian shakes Stefan gently, attempting to wake him. Stefan sighs but doesn’t rouse. Brian thinks of his phone; _Alex will kill me if I get an international charge_. He decides it’s worth the risk, and will explain it away as an emergency.

He dials though the usual reliable contacts; tour manager, production manager, techs; each call is met with a flat tone. Brian nudges Stefan again, beginning to worry that he’ll have to lug the bassist out of the club himself. No reaction.

Brian stares at the remaining options on his phone; the most obvious one is also the most vexing. He dials though the list, most calls are ignored but he leaves a brief message for Bill. Brian frowns as only one choice remains; he clicks though reluctantly.

He holds his breath as the tone rings.

“Hi, Steve- wait, don’t hang up.”


	34. Chapter 34

Steve presses his palm against his free ear, straining to hear.

“What?” He huffs, annoyed at the interruption. The line crackles; Steve briefly pulls the phone from his ear to check that the call is still connected.

“I need your help,” Brian sounds hesitant, but not panicked.

“Mmm?” Steve hopes his annoyance is being accurately conveyed; he moves to a far corner of the room to better hear.

“Stef’s, uh, I need someone to help me get him in a cab.”

“Is he okay? Where are you?” Panic seeps into Steve’s booze soaked brain.

“He’s just pissed, we’re... I don’t know.” Steve shakes his head.

“You _are_ still at the same club, at least?” The drummers tone has grown impatient.

“Yeah,” Brian sounds almost timid now, “a walkway, ground floor?”

“Fine,” Steve scowls into the receiver before hanging up. He’s confused and annoyed, but mostly worried. _It’s so unlike Stef,_ he thinks. Matias has returned with drinks; Steve shakes his head as the Chilean approaches.

“I’ve got to go,” he says, half-smiling in apology. Matias sits the glasses down and moves over to him quickly, talking his arm.

“I’m sorry, have I-“

“No, it’s my friend, he’s wasted.” Steve shakes Matias’ hand away and grabs his jacket from the back of a chair, moving to leave the lounge.

“I can help?” Matias offers, blocking his path. Steve shakes his head, half relieved to have an excuse to leave, half disappointed.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Matias checks his wristwatch quickly; “Or, tonight.” He smiles; his crooked grin is so reminiscent of Brian’s. Steve wills the thought from his mind but Matias’ hand is on his arm again, his mind spins.

“Sure,” is all Steve can manage; he pushes past, waving a quick goodbye to Matias and his friends and moving for the staircase.

Steve’s mind boggles; he attempts to fit the jigsaw pieces of information together as he storms up and down passages throughout the club. _What was I doing with Mati... what was I going to do... And Stef, what the hell..._ Steve marches down another staircase, becoming more and more uncertain about the situation. He attempts to shake the thoughts from his mind, urges himself to focus on finding Stefan.

He turns into yet another darkened hallway, bobbing between groups of friends, trying to catch a glimpse of his bandmates. Steve finally spots a hand waving him over; he pushes though partygoers and rushes forward. He squats awkwardly before Stefan; wobbling a little. Steve takes the Swede by his shoulders and shakes; Stefan frowns a little in response.

“What happened?” Steve turns to Brian; the singer avoids his gaze.

“He’s okay,” Brian says, “just drunk-”

“You’re sure?” Steve glares accusingly. Brian scowls at him in return.

“What, you think I’d-”

“I don’t know what the fuck to think anymore, Brian.” Steve turns back to Stefan, leaving the singer to sulk. He jostles the taller man, then tries slapping his palm to his face. No response.

“Careful,” Brian warns, as Steve moves to slap Stefan again. The drummer scoffs.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Steve says, moving to Stefan’s side and pulling a limp arm around his shoulders. Brian follows his lead, mirroring Steve’s movements. They stand awkwardly, pulling Stefan up with them. Steve glances at Brian; the singer nods at him grudgingly. They move slowly toward the exit, eventually aided by security staff to move Stefan to a bench outside the club. Brian sits beside him, while Steve hovers at the edge of the pavement, waiting to spot a cab. He watches as Brian slides in beside Stefan, taking his hand, his other palm pressed to the Swede’s cheek.

Spite stirs inside Steve; he seethes as the cool air sobers him.


	35. Chapter 35

Brian thinks he see Stefan stir a little as his head hits the car seat, lolling back awkwardly. He leans in to buckle the bassist’s seatbelt, squeezing his hand quickly before shutting the car door. Brian turns back to Steve, now pacing the pavement, a cigarette clenched between his lips.

“You coming?” Brian asks, moving toward the backseat. Steve watches him coolly. “I think I’ll need your help, y’know,” Brian waves toward the slumped body in the front seat.

“Yeah, fine,” Steve mutters, glancing quickly toward the club. He moves around the back of the cab and heaves himself into the backseat with obvious reluctance. Brian slides into the cab, aware of the tension lingering; taught, like an elastic band about to snap painfully. He shifts forward to show the driver the address on his phone, noting that the meter is already running.

Brian watches Stefan’s reflection in the side mirror, his head nodding as the car lurches forward.

“You’re sure we don’t need to go to the hospital?” Steve breaks the silence, his gaze firmly fixed away from Brian.

Brian stifles a yawn, the events of the day finally catching up to him.

“He’ll be fine,” he says dismissively, “just needs to sleep it off.”

“You’re _sure_?” Steve has turned to watch him, his distrust evident.

“Christ! Steve, this kinda thing happens all the time-”

“Not to Stefan.”

Brian lowers his gaze, reluctant to admit that Steve is right.

“If this is what he’s like now, when things are _good_ with you two, what the fuck do you think is going to happen at the end of tour?”

Brian picks at his cuticles, attempting to ignore Steve.

“Huh? How about when the baby comes? What then?”

Brian watches the city outside the window blur; he blinks away tears, refusing to look at Steve. 

They ride the rest of the way without speaking, the radio humming gently while the driver nods along. Once they reach the hotel, Brian digs a note out of his pocket. He unfurls it, slightly embarrassed but the driver grins as he hands it over. The pair ease Stefan from the front of the car; he sighs heavily as they drape his arms around their shoulders.

A hotel porter helps them get Stefan into his bedroom; Brian sits down gingerly beside him while Steve lingers in the doorway. Brian spots a sleeve of pills on the bedside table and his breath catches.

“You have to choose,” Steve says, his tone softer now.

Brian nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I know.”

Steve offers him the smallest of smiles, his eyes still pained.

“I’m sorry,” Brian says, his voice barely more than a whisper. He needs Steve’s forgiveness, or even just an admission. He looks to Steve but the drummer turns quickly and leaves; any acknowledgment unreadable.

Brian sinks into the bed, curling in against Stefan and resting his head on his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, tears prickling his eyes as he buries his face against Stefan’s shirt. 


	36. Chapter 36

Spinning lights flash behind his eyelids; Stefan cringes as a wave of nausea washes over him. His head thuds with the movement and he curls further inward. He pushes his face into the pillow, attempting to hide from the light or dull the pain. Something holds him around his chest and the sickness rises again. Stefan tries to wriggle free; the pressure tightens.

“Stef?” A hand rubs his back and the motion makes his stomach heave.

“Stop,” Stefan rasps, twisting away from the other man. The movement seems to ease; Stefan focuses on breathing. He inhales and exhales on counts of four, willing himself to slip back into unconsciousness. A hand shakes his shoulder gently; Stefan groans, the rocking motion bringing bile to the back of his throat.

“Stef, love? You need to drink something.”

Stefan grunts dismissively into the pillow. The hand persists, sliding across his shoulder to rub in circular motions.

“Stop,” Stefan pleads, sickness swelling inside him.

“Drink,” the man barters. Stefan raises a hand awkwardly, swiping forward. The voice chuckles.

“C’mon, Stef, sit up,” the man instructs.

“No.”

“You big baby,” the man mutters, pulling on his arm.

Stefan shields his eyes, propping himself unsteadily on an elbow. He blinks into the light, his head throbbing. Stefan stares at the man offering him water, recognising Brian but momentarily bewildered by his bald head.

Brian hands him the glass and studies him as he sips. Stefan frowns at him; the smaller man smiles.

“Aspirin?” Stefan asks, handing the glass back. Brian nods and moves from the bed; the shift dizzying Stefan. He watches Brian dig though his luggage and nausea rises again in Stefan’s chest. The singer glances up, concerned, apparently having found the collection of medication in his shower caddy. Stefan moves for the bathroom, no longer able to keep the sickness in.

He sinks to his knees before the toilet bowl and empties his stomach. Stefan leans against the porcelain, resting his head on his forearms, exhausted. The bathroom tiles are cool and comforting against his flushed skin, his headache is subdued by the darkness. A hand takes his shoulder; Brian squats beside him. The singer strokes his cheek softly, then leans in to press his lips to Stefan’s forehead. Brian passes him another glass of water, and offers two white capsules.

“Thanks,” Stefan says sheepishly, taking the items from him. Brian helps him to his feet and over to the sink, lingering behind him as Stefan brushes his teeth and washes his face. He watches the smaller man in the mirror, his eyes drawn with weariness and smeared with mascara. As if sensing his gaze, Brian rubs at his face, wiping at the makeup stains with his sleeve.

“Have you slept?” Stefan asks, still watching his reflection. Brian smiles softly, shaking his head.

“What time is it?” Stefan yawns and massages his temples.

“Bed time,” Brian says, taking his hand and leading him from the bathroom. Stefan crumples himself back under the covers, nestling his face into the pillow. He pauses, then peeks out into the dawn light. Brian stands at the foot of the bed watching him. Stefan taps the blanket beside him; Brian frowns at him, perhaps debating.

“Bri,” he calls, willing the smaller man forward. Brian slips from his line of sight, then falls heavily onto the bed beside him. Stefan wriggles back against the other man, demanding contact.

“Feel better?” Brian asks, wrapping himself around Stefan.

“Marginally.”

“How’s the tummy?”

“Awful.”

“Head?”

“Terrible.”

“Poor love,” Brian coos, twisting around to plant a kiss against his cheek.

The waves of nausea slowly subside, the pounding in his head dulls. Somehow, Stefan struggles to slip back into sleep; he opens his eyes and glances around. He is struck by the stillness of the room and the world outside of it.

“Can’t sleep?” Brian asks, noticing him stir.

“It’s too quiet,” he murmurs.

“And that’s a bad thing?” Brian teases, stroking his arm lightly. Stefan nods into the pillow.

“I’ll put the radio on,” Brian offers, shifting back on the bed.

“No,” Stefan holds his arm down, keeping him in place.

“What, then?” Brian punctuates this with a yawn.

“Sing for me,” Stefan mumbles, pulling Brian’s arm back around his chest. The smaller man scoffs.

“Seriously?” He wraps a leg around Stefan’s thigh, winding their bodies closer together.

“Please?”

Stefan senses something like shyness as Brian starts; he sings softly, sweetly, lulling him toward slumber. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh, i think my one goal in writing this was Little Spoon Stefan and now I'm gonna retire happy :)


	37. Chapter 37

Brian awakes with a start, as if hitting the ground from a fall. The rhythmic knocking sounds again, a voice shouting.

“Hour til venue, Stef!” the tour manager calls, banging once more.

“Okay!” Brian answers, hoping he is loud enough to be heard but not so loud as to wake Stefan.

More knocking; “Soundcheck, one hour!”

“Got it!” Brian shouts this time, swinging himself out of bed wearily. The manager moves on, pounding on doors further down the hallway, the beat echoing though the room and into Brian’s groggy brain. He turns toward his bandmate; Stefan has pulled the covers up over his head.

“Alright there, sleepyhead?” Brian ventures, falling back onto the bed and collapsing into the bundled up bassist. The lump grunts in response and Brian wriggles against him.

“Piss off,” Stefan says weakly, an arm escaping the covers to swat at Brian. He climbs over the other man, ducking the attacks and then straddling him. Stefan twists beneath him but Brian holds steady, chuckling.

“Rise and shi-hine,” Brian says in sing-song tone, pulling at the covers. Stefan holds tight, bucking at his attacker. Brian persists, yanking down the comforter and swooping down to plant little kisses on Stefan’s forehead, nose and cheeks. He pulls back, beaming down at his bandmate. Stefan belches in his face.

“You rude bastard!” Brian swats the air between them; Stefan laughs heartily. 

“Should have left you where I found you,” Brian teases, crossing his arms and leaning catlike against Stefan’s chest. He rests his head down, enjoying the moment of calm.

“Mmm?” Stefan prompts, stretching and yawning. He wraps his arms loosely around Brian.

“You were pretty wasted,” Brian says, his ear to Stefan’s chest. He feels Stefan shrug beneath him. Brian considers dropping the subject, simply enjoying the moment together before their day starts. However, concern gets the better of him.

“Stef, y’know you blacked out?” Brian tilts his head so he can see the other man. Stefan groans, shifting his arms from around Brian to behind his head.

“We were partying, is it really a big deal?” Stefan rolls his eyes.

“It’s just not like you,” Brian ventures, turning away from Stefan.

“And what is ‘ _like me’_?” Stefan’s tone turns sour. Brian sits up, chastising himself for prodding. Stefan holds his gaze, scowling.

Brian hesitates, wishing he had said nothing. _Shut up, shut up, shut up_ ; a sensible voice begs in the back of his mind.

“Y’know,” Brian starts, attempting to tease lightly, “My usual _dancing queen_ pops a few pills, doesn’t drink Santiago out of vodka and whatever that cocktail-”

Stefan scoffs; narrows his eyes at him, then shakes his head dismissively.

“What can I say,” Stefan shifts forward, sitting up, and Brian backs off his lap awkwardly, “I’ve had a bit going on this week.” He sighs, watching Brian as if searching for something.

The pair sit in silence; Brian wishing desperately he’d said nothing.

“Uh, maybe I should go,” Brian mumbles, moving backward on the bed.

“Really? That’s it?”

Brian’s mouth gapes, unsure of what to say, willing himself not to dig his hole any deeper.

“No, I mean, just, to get ready...?” Brian stumbles over his words, confusion clouding his face.

Stefan shakes his head, his disappointment evident. “You don’t want to... apologise, or anything?”

Brian narrows his gaze at Stefan, the embers of his temper ignited.

“I’m sorry, Stefan, for breaking my back to get you home safe, for making sure you didn’t die choking on your own vomit.”

“Wow,” Stefan watches him back, his tone equally sarcastic. “What an imposition that must have been...” he releases an exasperated sigh.

Brian shifts back off the bed, shaking his head. _Shut up, shut up, shut up,_ logic pleads but anger has engulfed him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Stefan, that, uh, actually,” Brian stokes his chin with mock contemplation, “that you broke up with me? I’m terribly sorry for that!” He stomps around the room, scooping up his belongings. “And of course, I’m so, _so_ sorry that you also have to deal with the news of Celeste’s pregnancy,” Brian seethes now, launching words like weapons at Stefan. “How fucking terrible for you. What a nasty little inconvenience.”

“Fuck off,” Stefan says shakily, turning and burying himself under the covers.

Brian slams the door as he leaves, burning with rage.


	38. Chapter 38

Steve glances across the minivan at Brian, an eyebrow raised in question.

“What?” The singer spits, pushing sunglasses over his tired eyes and turning toward the front of the vehicle. They bounce in their seats as the van hurtles down the freeway, veering wildly though traffic.

“Stefan?” Steve ventures and the singer ignores him. The tour manager leans forward, shaking his head.

“Stef’s... otherwise indisposed,” he explains, miming drinking.

Steve slides across in his seat, leaning over the aisle toward Brian.

“Is he alright?”

Brian nods curtly, avoiding eye contact.

“Bill’ll fill in for now,” the tour manager explains, looking from Brian to Steve, perhaps attempting to placate them. Glances are shared around the van, the crew murmuring.

Steve sags back into his seat, watching Brian as they cruise across the city. He wonders if Brian followed though and broke things off with Stefan. He wonders if he should confess... _What if Brian already has?_ Steve’s insides churn, imagining Stefan’s devastation.

He berates himself; _why, why, why?!_

~

“Oi, Brian! C’mon!” The sound engineer waves at him from the floor, his annoyance obvious.

Brian looks up from his feet; the band all watch him intently. He cringes, and stamps his foot violently onto an effects pedal, drawing squeals from his guitar. The others launch into the song; Bill standing self-consciously at the front of the stage, while a guitar tech lingers in his usual position toward the back.

“Come back to me, awhile,” Brian sings half-heartedly, his mind wandering through the morning’s events. _What have I done?_ He thinks of the disappointment etched into Stefan’s face. _Is it better sooner, rather than later?_ He grimaces into the microphone, his mind racing with worry. Brian turns to look at Steve, the drummer shifting his gaze quickly away from him. 

It feels as if the whole world is turning its back on him today.

~

Steve thinks about the drumbeat, the guitar riff, the bass line; he follows the looping chords with a charging beat, focusing in on the sounds. Brian has pulled away from the mic, dragging his hands up and down the neck of his guitar instead of singing the usual outro. The visual evokes hazy memories; Steve shakes his head as he plays to try and push them from his mind.

Brian, moonlit; his skin impossibly pale, impossibly soft. Brian; purring, moaning, whimpering. Steve slams his sticks against the skins and clamps his eyes shut.

He finishes the song with a clashing fill, not daring to look to his right. The engineer throws them a thumbs up gesture, and a roadie wheels out Brian’s kaoss pad. The singer fidgets with the instrument, glancing back and forth from it to the sound engineer. Steve begins the beat, noting the lack of backing guitar. He glances up to see Bill performing his best re-enactment of Stefan’s dance moves. The guitarist sways awkwardly, waving his arms above his head. Steve cracks up, missing a beat as he cackles.

Brian spins around, his frown fading as he spots Bill. The crew clap along from the floor; Bill wriggles his behind in their direction. Steve catches Brian’s eye as the performance finishes; he offers the drummer a slight smile.


	39. Chapter 39

Stefan inhales deeply on a joint, filling his chest and then releasing the earthy smoke in a steady stream. He repeats this process until the nub between his fingers burns out. Stefan sits staring out the window, waiting for the weed to bring some kind of buzz to his anesthetized mind. He watches traffic pass; he watches movement in the windows opposite his. The world seems to move at a crawl, the colours dulled and his senses numbed.

Stefan glances to the clock radio, wondering what time he should start preparing for the gig. It’s the second day now he’s missed their commitments, today avoiding a press interview. He’s used to a schedule, used to hyping himself up for interviews; the anxiety and adrenaline fuelling him though the busy days. These days spent in hazy hotel rooms feel like a limbo. He rolls himself another joint, fingertips working with practised precision.

Stefan moves through the afternoon on autopilot, arriving in the hotel lobby with little recollection of showering and dressing, but apparently having done so. He scopes the room for familiar faces; nodding to crew he passes as he heads outside for a cigarette. He leans against the brick facade, the afternoon light warm against his face. The nicotine begins to lift his brain fog, though he still feels drowsy. Crew members begin to mill around outside, chatting around him but not to him. Stefan has a vague notion of invisibility, a superpower he’d longed for as a child.

He senses movement in his periphery and turns to see Brian walking toward him. _So much for being invisible,_ he thinks miserably, bracing himself for fireworks. The singer stops a few feet from him, backing himself against the brick wall and lighting a fag. Stefan is unsure what to do, having prepared for confrontation.

“You okay?” Brian asks, hardly looking in his direction. Stefan scoffs, feeling like he’s a spy receiving top secret information.

“Yeah,” he offers, equally aloof, “you?”

“Mmm,” Brian says, tipping his head back and releasing a thick tendril of smoke from his pursed lips.

Both men stand contemplatively; Stefan wonders if this is Brian saying sorry, or if he is actually awaiting an apology. He knows if there’s one thing Brian can’t stand, its silence. _Just say something,_ he urges, _that you’re sorry, that I matter..._ He thinks of them as they were in the early morning hours; him at his most vulnerable, Brian at his most empathetic. He thinks of Brian caring for him, his lovely little lullaby, and how all this will be over in a few mere weeks.

Stefan turns to Brian, smiling sadly.

“Sorry,” he says softly.

“Me too,” Brian responds instantly, his relief obvious.

They smile at each other, neither moving to bridge the space between them. Stefan is content with the distance; near enough for comfort, far enough not to hurt.


	40. Chapter 40

Backstage momentum builds, with crew members swarming the passageways, tension building as the stage lighting dims. The crowd buzzes with anticipation, their energy billowing into the wings. Steve watches his bandmates linger side of stage; no longer hostile, but still separated. The team is herded together, encouraged with laughter and shouting. Steve notes Stefan’s faux enthusiasm, and Brian’s coked-up keenness. He plays along with the crew, chanting and cheering; internally he prepares for disaster.

He takes to the stage with arms raised, jogging toward his kit. The intensity of the audience propels him forward; he grins as he looks out at the throng of spectators. Their encouragement quells his worries, he has focus now. He joins Bill’s riff; at once crowd surges forward, their arms raised and waving to his beat. Steve closes his eyes, allowing his arms to take control.

~

Brian saunters onto the stage, a lit cigarette held aloft. He grins as the audience cheers, waving his fag like a conductor before an orchestra. A guitar tech chases him, rolling her eyes as she lifts the strap over his head. Brian throws her a cheesy grin as he moves to the microphone; the roar of the crowd growing louder with every step. He strums with rough, quick movements, drawing howling chords from the instrument.

Brian moves for the microphone, looking down at his audience. They’re frenzied; some crying, others screaming. He smirks, taking in their adoration, the hands reaching desperately for him. Brian looks out into the crowd as he sings, making deliberate eye contact with various fans. He steps forward, a wave of people surging toward him; his command of the crowd feeding his hungry ego.

~

Stefan slides his fingers up and down the neck of his bass, the tones drawling into the discordant lead riffs. He sways as he plays, allowing the music to guide him. It’s as if his hands already know what to do, fingers dragging and plucking in precise movements. He moves back and forth from the mic, offering soft backing vocals. Stefan’s mind drifts, considering the events of the week like pieces of a jigsaw. A fractured timeline with missing parts and impossible choices, all leading to one logical but devastating end.

It’s in the loudest possible place that he is seeking quiet. Stefan leans back, ignoring the crowd, funnelling his focus into his music and away from his thoughts.


	41. Chapter 41

Steve pulls his shirt off, throwing the balled fabric to a stage hand who tosses him a towel. He rubs his hair roughly, the long tresses dripping. He eases the towel across his shoulders, stretching his arms wide. His muscles ache in the most wonderful way; waves of pain radiating from his shoulders and rippling down his back and into his fingers. Yet he feels euphoric, his brain releasing chemicals to combat his exhaustion, adrenaline flowing though him.

Steve readily accepts the can offered to him as he enters the lounge backstage; he chugs the beer and reaches for another. He jokes with the crew while the venue staff prepare platters. One worker lingers at the table, watching Steve while instructing the staff. The drummer gives a wave and Matias bounces over to him, hugging him tight and pecking him on the cheek. Steve freezes in his grasp, surprised by the over-familiarity.

“Great show!” Matias gushes, his hand tight on Steve’s arm. There’s something thrilling about the contact, but Steve instinctively recoils.

“Thanks,” Steve says, pulling free and loading a plate with food. They move to a pair of plastic seats and Steve falls back heavily, already pushing a sandwich triangle into his mouth.

“I’m happy your guitarist was okay,” Matias offers, “he was sick last night?”

Steve nods, chewing greedily though his dinner, his hunger overwhelming.

“You guys will party tonight?” Matias leans toward Steve as he asks.

Steve shrugs, and then tilts his head, thinking, before nodding. Matias giggles at this.

“I’ll see you later, once you eat. It’s good?” The Chilean stands over Steve. The drummer nods again, covering his mouth with a hand.

“Mmm, good,” he offers, grinning but instantly feeling stupid.

“La comida es muy rica,” Matias purrs, looking Steve up and down before moving to clear trays from the table. Steve wolfs through his meal, washing it down with a beer. Once satiated, he considers the exchange. He drums his bare stomach, thinking though his options. _Why not?_ Steve thinks, _he’s nice, bit of fun, we leave tomorrow; Bob’s your uncle._ A firmer voice rebuts this; **_he_** , it warns, **_a bloke_** _._ Steve stands and refills his plate, ignoring the hubbub and excitement around him. _Bit late for that,_ he argues with himself, biting a pastry.

Mental images comparing Mati with Brian immediately flicker into his mind. Was it an accident? Was there some deep-seated part of his psyche just waiting for such an opportunity? Steve chews slowly, processing his thoughts. He’s momentarily distracted as Stefan enters the room. He looks tired and ghostly pale. Steve beckons him over, wrapping an arm around the bassist. Stefan leans into him, smiling blankly. 

_The whole thing’s a shambles,_ Steve decides, _may as well have fun while it lasts._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry updates are so infrequent, but if you're still reading this I love you!~ <3


	42. Chapter 42

Stefan picks at his food, awaiting an interrogation from his bandmate. He watches Steve flick distractedly at the pull tab on his beer can, perhaps choosing his words carefully.

“I’m okay,” Stefan offers, pre-empting him. Steve cocks an eyebrow, but smiles kindly.

“Right,” the drummer starts, taking a sip before continuing, “You are _now_.”

Stefan narrows his gaze at the other man, not interested in being patronised.

“I didn’t realise we’d taken up sobriety,” he says, sardonic in his delivery and eying Steve’s beer. Steve forces a laugh, swirling the can as he considers his next choice.

“We have a right to be worried,” Steve says at last, looking purposefully at Stefan. The Swede ignores him, pulling layers of pastry from a canapé, dissecting the snack slowly.

“Stef,” Steve places a hand on his arm, “talk to me.”

“Why are you and Brian fighting?” Stefan returns the drummers gaze. Steve shifts slightly, taking a long drink from the can and then slowly crushing in his fist.

“We’re not fi-” Steve pauses, sighing, as he notes Stefan’s scowl. “We... we had...uh, a disagreement,” he finally offers.

“About?” Stefan believes he already knows the answer but still needs to hear it. Needs to know that Brian is feeling _something_ ; that he is also struggling.

Steve hesitates, glancing around the room as if he might find a distraction. Stefan places a hand on his, squeezing gently to encourage him.

“Brian hasn’t... said anything?” Steve ventures, seemingly treading carefully.

“He’s said a lot,” Stefan smiles sadly, returning his hand to the deconstructed meal on his plate. “But, you know, not enough.”

“But, are you two...?” Steve pauses to watch him. Stefan sighs, his eyes welling with tears as he looks up.

“I don’t know,” his voice is soft but strangely calm. Steve grasps his arm firmly, stroking his skin comfortingly with his thumb.

“Shit,” Steve murmurs.

“Mmm,” Stefan nods, “ _shit_.” He scoffs, amused by Steve’s choice of condolences. This makes the drummer crack a smile, apparently relieved.

“Bollocks,” he offers, grinning.

“Bugger,” Stefan adds, smiling now.

“Bloody wanker,” Steve replies, gauging Stefan’s reaction. The Swede snorts.

“Little prat.”

“Dickhead.”

“Fucking arsehole.”

The pair giggle, Stefan relaxes as the insults continue.

“Daft git.”

“Utter twat.”

Steve glances from the door back to Stefan as Brian waltzes in.

“Shit,” they say in sync, turning toward each other before cracking up again.


	43. Chapter 43

Brian moves for the refreshments table, noting his bandmates in his periphery. They’re laughing. He’s relieved to see Stefan enjoying himself, but still weary of Steve. He scopes the room for an empty seat, and plonks himself beside Xavior.

“Stef’s still alive,” the keyboardist says, leaning in conspiratorially. Brian forces a smile.

“D’you think we should let him out tonight?” Xavior adds, hiding behind his hand. Brian shrugs, raising his eyebrows as he chews.

“He’s a big boy,” Brian finally offers, “we needn’t worry.”

“You would know,” Xavior mutters, swigging from a bottle. Brian ignores the comment, instead trying to study his other bandmates discretely.

“So, where to later?” Xavior asks. Brian shrugs again, gesturing to the others in the room.

“I don’t think _I_ really get much of a say anymore,” he says, smirking. Xavior cackles, his face lighting up.

“ _Please_ tell me you saw the drag sh-”

Brian is alerted to a vibration in his pocket; he raises his hand and stands, relieved to have an excuse to skip that particular topic.

He glances at the caller ID: _Lesi._ He presses the call button and steps from the room, catching Stefan’s eye for the briefest moment as he leaves.

“Hey!” he says, pushing a palm to his other ear, straining against background noise.

“Mon petit chou, how are you?” A million responses swirl around in Brian’s mind.

“Fine,” he offers. “How are you though, how are you feeling?”

“ _Fine_ ,” Celeste imitates, then giggles. “Well, weird, actually.”

“Sick?” Brian paces down the walkway, searching for a quiet space.

“A little,” Celeste admits, “But mostly... strange.”

“Mmm?” Brian prompts, closing the door of the dressing room and falling into a seat.

“We’re having a _baby_.”

“Mmmhmm...?” Brian holds the cell phone to his ear with his shoulder, wriggling his cigarette packet from his pocket and lighting one.

“You can’t smoke around the baby,” Celeste informs him.

“Christ,” Brian spins in his seat, “are you monitoring me?”

“Oui,” she teases.

“Want me to call you back from a landline? This’ll cost a mint.”

“Oh? Luckily I have a wealthy rockstar boyfriend.”

“Hm, don’t tell him about me then,” Brian quips. Her laughter rings down the line. “You were saying you felt weird?” He prompts

“Did you know babies have no knee caps?” Brian snots in response. “And, in the womb, they have tails _and gills?!_ ”

Brian draws slowly on his cigarette; the information seems to belong to a parallel universe. These facts are for some other guy, not him, on tour, following the conventions of _sex, drugs and rock’n’roll._ He glances around the room, thinking of Stefan’s body pressed against his. He looks to the shower, recalling his delight at being held; the sense of security, his sanctuary within Stefan’s arms.

“...and, how’s this, newborns can’t cry tears!” Brian tunes into the phone call, spinning his seat from the shower.

“My love, you’ve spent too much time on the internet.” 

“Well,” Celeste’s tone drops, “At least it keeps me company.” Brian can hear the pout in her voice. He sighs.

“Want me to come home?” The question dangles, her pause deliberate. “Lesi?”

“I bought a ticket for Brazil,” she admits, sounding sheepish.

“Oh.”

“ _Oh?_ ”

“Oh, good!” Brian scrambles, hoping he sounds adequately delighted. “When?” he ventures.

“Same day as you,” her tone a little warmer. “I spoke with Alex, I’m going to film a little tour documentary of the band.”

“Oh,” Brian sinks into his seat, wondering if this is something he’s meant to be aware of.

“A website thing,” she adds.

“Okay... wow, yeah, cool.” Celeste scoffs at his response.

“Is that not okay? I thought you asked me to join you?” Brian fidgets with his fag, flicking ash onto the bench to make a pattern.

“Bri...?”

“It’s fine.” Brian attempts to calculate the dates in his mind; his heart sinks realising how drastically short his time with Stefan has been cut.

“Fine?”

“Celeste, please, I’m sorry, I’m tired.” She sighs in reply.

“It’s Ste-” Brian doesn’t let her get the word out.

“Tell me more,” he interjects, “more about your parasite.” Celeste laughs.

“ _Our_ parasite.” Brian’s head spins, reality too much for him to fathom.

“How big is it?” he ventures.

“As big a plum,” she says proudly. The mental image horrifies him.

“With gills?” he asks and Celeste snickers.

“No, ears now.”

“Oh, good,” Brian says, half believing the pantomime he’s playing. An awkward silence stretches between them.

“Well, I’ll let you go wreak havoc then,” Celeste says, “While you still can.” Brian forces a chuckle.

“Feel better soon,” he offers.

“Je t'aime, ma chérie,” she says in a sweetly sing-song voice.

“Moi aussi, je t'aime,” Brian attempts to replicate her saccharine tone.

_“_ Mon petit chouchou,” Celeste teases and Brian scoffs.

“Ma puce, goodnight.”

She replies with a loud smack of her lips into the receiver, then ends the call.

Brian moves in a daze back to the lounge, his mind boggled. He grabs a can of beer from the refreshment table and looks for a snack. His gaze settles on a fruit basket; he stares.

_As big as a plum._


	44. Chapter 44

The band and crew return to Bellavista, with Matias once again leading the way down the terraced streets. Steve follows close behind him, half listening as he explains the history behind various buildings and landmarks. Internally, he’s still debating. _One mistake doesn’t mean you should jump the fence,_ one side argues. _Fuck it,_ the other states; _might not be a band next week, let’s shag, drink and be merry._

Steve turns to check on Stefan; the bassist swigs from a vodka bottle, then pauses to grin back at him. Steve makes a mental note to keep Stefan in his sight for the remainder of the night; _well, most of it._

“Salsa?” Matias asks, raising a hand above his head and stepping toward Steve, swinging his hips. Steve laughs, shaking his head and ducking behind Stefan, pushing him ahead. Stefan sways forward and Matias catches his hand and grabs him by the waist, leading him down the street. The dancers lead the group down a stairwell and into a bar, the lighting dimmed and the walls painted with murals. The entourage quickly fill the venue and Steve joins the queue for the bar. 

Matias and Stefan join him in the line, both laughing. A tiny jealousy gnaws at Steve.

“What’s a decent beer then, Mati?” he asks. Matias shakes his head.

“Urgh, I don’t drink beer!”

Stefan points to a logo poster behind the bar, squinting at the Germanic font.

“Cunts... man?” The others splutter with laughter.

“ _Kunstmann_ ,” Matias corrects, leading them forward in the queue. Steve and Stefan turn toward each other, cracking up again.

“Beer for you?” Steve asks the bassist.

“Nah, don’t think I fancy a cunt, man,” Stefan giggles.

_Stranger things have happened,_ Steve thinks, approaching the bar. 


	45. Chapter 45

Brian slams open cubicle door, sitting on the toilet with a huff. _Who the fuck is that guy?_ He seethes thinking about Stefan, with Steve and that other bastard. He pictures Stefan laughing, his smile wide but eyes blank. _Is Steve trying to keep Stef away from me?_ He imagines a ticking clock counting down the days he has left before Celeste arrives. _Bitch,_ he thinks, but then shakes his head. _Bastard;_ he glowers and swaps his mental image to Steve. Brian dips into his plastic bag of cocaine, scooping a portion out on the side of his knuckle. He snorts it quickly, and repeats with his other nostril. He rubs his nose as the powder anesthetises his throat; the chemicals leeching into his system exhilaratingly.

Brian leaves the stall with renewed determination and focus. He struts back into the bar and locates his bandmates standing around a counter, chatting and laughing. It’s the laughter that infuriates him; does he want to keep all Stefan’s happiness for himself? Or is he afraid they’re laughing at him? He saunters toward the group, wearing his best smile.

“Hello there,” he purrs, extending a hand to the stranger. The conversation falls silent. “Have we met yet?”

Matias beams as he takes Brian’s hand, his delight seems genuine.

“I’m Matias! It is a pleasure to meet you,” he says. Stefan and Steve watch on without a word.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Brian insists, slowly releasing the other man’s hand. He relishes the feeling of power he has, the ability to control all three men before him.

“Matias, would you be so kind as to accompany me to the bar? There’s a cocktail I want to order.” Brian grins at Steve, noting his frustration with delight.

“Sure, darling,” Matias leaps to Brian’s aid; the pair looking like inverse twins. “How was the blow?” he asks as Brian leads them toward the bar.

“Oh, that was your doing? You’re an angel,” Brian strokes Matias’ arm briefly.

“Then you must be a devil,” Matias quips, giggling. Brian grins and raises a single finger to his lips.

“I can ask you a favour?” The Chilean steps forward in the queue.

“Certainly.”

“Tell me about Steve,” Matias says, his voice rich with suggestion. Brian blinks at him, momentarily startled. He glances from Matias back to his bandmates. Steve watches them with an unreadable expression, while Stefan fidgets with a napkin. _Interesting,_ Brian thinks, turning back the Chilean.

“Anything in particular?” A slither of guilt stabs at Brian, but his curiosity is far stronger.

Matias leans over, cupping his ear and whispering.

_How very interesting..._


	46. Chapter 46

Stefan pokes at his drink with the straw, pushing ice cubes to the bottom of the glass and watching them float back up. He looks up quickly before snatching the vodka bottle at his feet and using it to top up the cocktail. They’ve joined a larger group of roadies and around him conversation flows.

“Un copete,” Matias demonstrates, holding up a green cocktail.

“Un copete,” the men around the table repeat, with varying degrees of success. Matias points to Brian’s cigarette; the singer points back at him.

“I know this one! C _igarro,”_ Brian rolls his ‘r’s expertly. Matias grins but shakes his head.

“Nu-uh, that is Spanish, we say _pucho,_ ”

“ _Pucho_ ,” Brian echoes effortlessly.

Stefan stabs at the ice cubes again, wishing he could leave. Steve and Brian have trailed him all evening, offering each other snide remarks but mostly ignoring him. He wonders about Brian and this Mati guy; _did I miss something? Is this some kind of game he’s playing?_ There’s something weird about the two of them together, Matias is far camper than Brian but there’s a similar androgyny and charisma.

He thinks again about leaving, resigning himself to the fact that he has two caretakers for the evening. Stefan doesn’t want to go clubbing but certainly doesn’t want to go back to the hotel. He watches Matias and Brian interact; riffing together like it’s a practiced routine. Stefan sips at his drink, slurping at the last dregs. He fidgets with the finished glass, twirling the base against the table top, leaving rings of condensation.

“Another?” Steve calls to him, rising from his stool. Stefan looks at him, surprised Steve is encouraging him.

“Sure,” Stefan mumbles, standing and moving for the bar queue. The pair stand quietly for a moment.

“Are you al-”

“ _Yes_ ,” Stefan sighs, rolling his eyes at Steve. The drummer raises his hands in mock defence.

“You seem quiet,” Steve says kindly. Stefan scoffs; _and the sky seems blue and the Pope seems Catholic._

“Actually, _you_ seem quiet,” Stefan realises, turning back to Steve. The drummer shrugs. Stefan cocks his head, staring until Steve cracks.

“Well, I don’t bloody know... Does Brian seem... weird?” Steve’s tone is serious.

Stefan simply blinks in response. 

“I mean, _obviously,_ but,” Steve says, laughing now.

“You’re both acting weird,” Stefan states. Steve’s smile grows tight again.

Stefan drops the topic, seeing that they’re getting nowhere.

“Shots?” He asks coyly, as they near the bar. Steve twists his mouth, clearly debating.

“Well...” Steve wavers, glancing from their table back to Stefan, “Just a couple.”

Stefan grins with childish glee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is formatted so weird, I'm too lazy to go back and change it now though lol


	47. Chapter 47

Steve dances with abandon, the deafening beat driving his movement. He bounces up on his toes, bobbing with the crowd. They’ve found themselves at a mainstream club playing Latin mixes, though Steve can’t really remember leaving the bar. The room around him flickers, dizzying disco lights flashing rainbows across the dance floor. Faces around him blur but he can recognize his friends; he watches Stefan shimmy not far from where he dances. _Still standing_ , he notes with relief.

Around him the crowd chants along with the music, the tempo rising as the song reaches a crescendo. The words mean nothing to him but he moves to the pulsing rhythm, feeding off the music’s intensity. Steve’s arms are raised skywards when hands slink around his waist, a body pressed against his. He relaxes into the grip without hesitation. A mouth moves against his neck; he shivers at the touch. Steve is drunk enough to lose his reservations, but not so drunk as to lose sensation. 

He leans into the other man, knowing that if he turns around it’s an admission of guilt, that it makes things real. _Fuck it_ , Steve decides. He lifts the hands from his hips and turns slowly, moving against the crowd of bodies. Matias beams at him; Steve watches his pretty lips.

“Thought I had lost you,” Matias shouts, his mouth against Steve’s ear. He shakes his head. The drummer vaguely remembers watching Matias and Brian flounce about together, and him leaving in a huff. The Chilean wraps his arms around his neck; Steve finds his hands moving to Matias’ hips on their own accord. He grins, amused at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.

“What?” Matias mouths, smiling prettily.

Steve shakes his head again, still smiling. Matias moves forward, pressing his lips lightly against Steve’s. The drummer turns his head; the other man watches him with confusion.

“No?” Matias mouths.

“Not here,” he replies. Matias persists, pressing his lips to Steve’s cheek.

“ _Tranqui,_ ” he says, his breath warm against Steve’s ear. Steve allows the soft kisses to creep along his jaw line, and down his neck. Matias presses against him, stirring friction between them as they dance. Memories flash into Steve’s mind of Brian on his lap, moving roughly against him. Steve steps back from Matias, the thought stunning him. The Chilean watches him again, this time with curiosity. He takes Steve’s hand and pulls gently, tipping his head toward the exit. 

Steve glances from the exit and back to the other man. Matias grins, moving backward against the sea of dancers, leading Steve slowly.

Steve doesn’t look for his bandmates; he watches the other man and his charming, crooked smile.


	48. Chapter 48

Stefan sways to the beat of the music, looking out across the dance floor. Beautiful men and women move around him, but none he recognises. The vague idea of a trip tomorrow comes to mind, and the thought of heading home. _Bus... plane? Train? Automobile?_ He shrugs to himself as he moves across the room, veering from the queue for the bathroom back toward the bar. Stefan joins the swarm awaiting service at the bar.

He shuffles forward in the queue, his shoulders shifting lightly to the rhythm playing. A hand waving ahead of him comes into focus. He blinks, and spots Brian toward the front of the line. He points at the singer and Brian nods back, grinning. Stefan leaves the line and waits for Brian at the side of the bar where it’s quiet enough to hear himself think.

The singer saunters toward him, smirking. He offers Stefan a tall glass of clear liquid. Stefan takes it and sips cautiously, awaiting the bitter sting of spirits. He stares at Brian.

“ _Water_...?”

Brian smiles sweetly in response. Stefan blinks at him, then scoffs. Somehow, he isn’t annoyed; the gesture is strangely thoughtful.

“Thanks,” Stefan finally says. Brian rocks on his heels, perhaps hesitating to come closer.

They watch each other awkwardly, neither knowing what to say.

Stefan longs to wrap his arms around the singer, to melt his mouth against his. But instead he smiles politely, recalling the other man Brian had spent the evening dancing with.

“Well, I’ll-”

“Okay, I-”

They each start, then stop, pausing for the other to continue. The men laugh, each taking a step forward, then back, then laughing harder. Stefan watches Brian wistfully, wondering what he’s thinking. _Stay,_ he pleads internally. Outwardly, he waves an arm, gesturing for Brian to return to the dance floor. Brian glances over his shoulder and back to Stefan, shrugging slightly.

“What?” Brian says, close enough now not to shout. The Swede allows himself to feel a glimmer of hope.

“Mati isn’t waiting for you?” Stefan asks, the question sounding more bitter than he’d intended. Brian grins again.

“Oh? Oh no, that was...” he bites his lip as he considers, “just a favour.” He smirks and takes a quick sip from his drink, twirling the straw as he watches Stefan. The Swede shakes his head, his resentment fading the longer he spends with Brian.

Brian shifts closer still, and places his hand on Stefan’s arm.

“You’re okay?” he asks pointedly.

“I am now,” Stefan says, feeling moronic the moment the words leave his mouth. Brian walks his fingers up his arm and hovers at his shoulder, as if awaiting Stefan’s command. Stefan steps closer and wraps an arm around Brian’s waist; both men push forward in a rush, their lips meeting desperately. They move quickly from the crowd, Stefan’s back meeting a wall with a thud. They kiss hungrily, bodies pressed together; each man intoxicated by the other.

The initial wave of lust eases; the men reluctantly slowing to pull away. Reality weighs on Stefan’s mind.

“We have to stop,” Stefan says, his arm still firm around Brian’s waist.

“I know,” the smaller man replies, reaching up to catch Stefan’s lower lip between his own.

They kiss again, slowly, melting into each other’s embrace.

Neither man stops.


	49. Chapter 49

Brian pushes his key card into the slot roughly, impatient as Stefan presses himself closer against his back, his hands wandering.

“For fucksake,” he hisses, jamming the card again, to be met with another flashing red light. Stefan’s mouth moves from his ear to his neck; he shivers. Brian jerks the card in and out roughly, grunting with annoyance. Stefan laughs.

“Not sure I’m impressed with your technique,” he murmurs, and leans forward to take the card from Brian. Stefan inserts it carefully, sliding gently; the light flashes green and the lock clicks. Brian scoffs and snatches the card from him. He spins and grasps Stefan, walking backward into the darkened room.

“Is that how you want it?” he asks, his voice low. “Slow and gentle?” Stefan chuckles, following him closely across the room.

“Oh, is this the butch haircut speaking?” Stefan teases. Brian snorts.

“Mmmhmm,” he says, climbing onto the bed and pulling Stefan down, “No more of that pansy shit for me.” He notices Stefan flinch a little.

“Although, I _guess_ I can make certain exceptions.”

Brian feels relieved as he watches the Swede smile. He wriggles up the bed and Stefan follows on all fours, like a creature hunting prey. Stefan leans over him, his hands moving up his shirt and his mouth against Brian’s neck. The singer sighs sweetly. He’s been starving to be touched like this; to feel a lover's caress, to feel wanted, _needed_.

Brian inhales sharply as Stefan’s teeth graze his collarbone.

“Not so tough now,” Stefan taunts, and Brian laughs.

“Sure I am,” he retorts, smirking. Stefan raises an eyebrow before moving back to his neck. He laps and kisses at the sensitive skin, drawing a gasp from the singer. Stefan pulls back, looking smug.

“Tough guy? _Marshmallow_ ,” Stefan teases.

“It’s acting, _darling,_ ” Brian says between giggles, squirming as Stefan’s fingertips trace his sides ticklishly. He spots that sad smile flash across Stefan’s face again.

_Am I acting?_ Sometimes he wonders who the real Brian is; his life split into the public and private, split between partners; is he an entertainer or an artist? He grounds himself in the sensations he feels; Stefan’s breath, warm against his neck, his hands skimming lightly across his skin, leaving trails of goosebumps. _This is real_ , he reminds himself, but refuses to show Stefan any vulnerability.

Brian arches against the bassist, pulling him closer. He gasps as Stefan sucks at his skin, a sharp sting at the base of his neck.

“Stef!” he squeaks and the other man grins down at him.

“You were daydreaming,” Stefan tells him; pressing his lips gently back up his neck. 

“Oh?” Brian relaxes into his grasp. “What was I thinking about?” Stefan dips down against him, dragging his crotch. Brian moans at the contact, noting Stefan’s straining erection.

“Probably,” Stefan says breathily, grinding down on him again, “about sucking my cock.”

Brian grins, still pleasantly surprised by dirty talk from the Swede even after all these years.

“Perhaps,” he offers, before pulling Stefan in for a quick kiss. “If you ask nicely.” Now Stefan chuckles.

“Please?” he asks, pressing himself against Brian again, drawing moans from the smaller man. Brian kisses him once more.

“Pretty please?” They’re both giggling now.

Brian pushes himself up on one elbow, guiding Stefan upward. He wraps his other hand around Stefan’s neck and kisses him, snaking his tongue into the other man’s mouth. There are things he can’t _say_ but perhaps he can show them.

Brian rises to his knees, his fingers moving to the buttons on Stefan’s shirt. He yanks at each one roughly, then slides his hands over Stefan’s shoulders, pulling the garment off. Stefan mirrors his actions, his long fingers then sliding along the waistband of Brian’s trousers. Brian trails his fingers down Stefan’s chest, exploring slowly. He traces the toned muscles of his stomach, slowly moving downward; delighting in every gasp and sigh. He watches Stefan as he splays his palm against his crotch, carefully tracing the outline of his dick. 

The bassist moans, moving forward to kiss Brian. Stefan arches against his hand, but Brian works slowly, wanting to feel him grow harder as he strokes.

“Bri...” Stefan pleads, pulling back to watch him.

“Got somewhere to be?” Brian teases, dragging a fingertip up and down his zipper. Stefan scoffs and Brian grins back at him.

“Slow and gentle, right?” Brian says as he eases Stefan’s belt buckle open and drags the metal clasp against his stomach. The Swede wriggles at the cold touch. Brian fidgets with the waistband of Stefan’s boxers, watching his anticipation grow. He takes Stefan’s cock in his hand and strokes softly, teasingly. Brian leans forward, pressing his lips to Stefan’s; the taller man sinks backward onto the bed.

Brian straddles Stefan’s leg, rubbing himself lazily against the other man’s thigh. He moans into Stefan’s mouth at each sweeping pass, a little louder each time. He grins as the girth in his fist grows harder still. Brian finally breaks away from the kiss, taking a moment to appreciate the bliss on Stefan’s face, before moving downward. He trails kisses down Stefan’s torso, shifting over to his inner arm to peck at the sensitive skin; he reaches his wrist and places soft kisses against the throbbing blue veins. He shifts back to Stefan’s waist, running his tongue down his protruding hip bone.

Brian glances up at Stefan, grinning as he licks his cock gently. Stefan grimaces back, lingering somewhere between torture and ecstasy. Brian obliges him at last, taking his dick between his lips and sucking lightly. He moves leisurely, taking a little more in with each bob of his head. Stefan groans, his breath growing ragged.

Brian thinks for a moment about climbing forward and pushing himself onto Stefan’s cock. He recalls another man beneath him; the thought brings bitter guilt. Guilt that he did it, that he’d even wanted to; had wanted to for so long. He watches Stefan as he works him, imagining his hurt; he thinks of Steve instead and aches with remorse.

Stefan moans deeply and Brian forces himself to focus. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a wallet; he digs in and retrieves two foil packages. Stefan nods at him.

“Yeah?” Brian asks, stroking harder now.

“Mmhmm,” Stefan manages, pleading with his eyes.

Brian tears open the lubricant and quickly coats his fingers. He traces Stefan’s hole, his other hand still stroking. Stefan nods again. Brian pushes inside with one finger, twisting slowly. He eases in another, speeding up a little. He curls his fingers and watches with delight as Stefan writhes against him.

“Please,” Stefan asks, pushing against his hand. Brian rises on his knees, and takes his hand from Stefan’s dick to slide his trousers off. He frees his own erection and strokes himself slowly, sighing at the touch. He watches Stefan chew his lip as he slides on the condom, then lathers himself in lube.

Brian lines himself up with Stefan’s hole, his own anticipation close to unbearable. Without thinking, Brian reaches out his free hand to take Stefan’s, grasping tightly. Stefan squeezes back.

Both men moan as Brian pushes inside. He thrusts gently, willing himself not to come right away. Stefan moves to his tempo at first, then encourages him to move faster. Brian reaches his free hand down to take Stefan’s hip, leveraging himself as he thrusts deeper. Stefan pushes himself up on his elbow, his free hand grasping the back of Brian’s head, pulling him into a kiss. They move faster together, breaking apart to take gasping breaths; lips dragging and sucking as they attempt to reconnect.

Brian feels Stefan’s fingers tense against him, clawing for hair that is no longer there. He drives deep into the other man, his muscles quivering as he nears climax. Stefan cries into his ear, the men now cheek to cheek and Brian follows swiftly. He moans and captures Stefan’s lips between his own; wanting to sink into him, to drown within the waves of pleasure.

Brian pulls himself out slowly, and tosses the condom aside. His mouth lingers on Stefan’s as he eases himself down beside the other man. He squeezes Stefan’s hand, surprised to find it still in his.

Their kisses steady as they relax against each other; Brian shivers as Stefan traces his fingertips up and down his back.

He feels as if he’s floating, as if he’s free. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a nice big, long... update for y'all ;)


	50. Chapter 50

Stefan blinks into the morning light, finding himself entwined around another body. He shivers as the morning chill ripples across his naked flesh, reaching awkwardly for the corner of the comforter. Brian sighs softly, nuzzling against his chest. Stefan attempts to roll the pair of them to one side of the bed, so he can pull up the bed covers. Brian huffs as he wriggles against him. 

Failing that, he tries to free his arm from under Brian. The smaller man clings tighter, curling in. Stefan snorts with amusement; _even unconscious he does the opposite of what I want._ He lies still for a moment, noting with relief that a slight headache seems to be the only damage from the night before. He listens to the murmur of city life outside their walls and the steady breathing beside him. A shiver runs though him, shaking him from his contemplation.

Stefan spots the decorative throw at the end of the bed and kicks a leg out, trying to catch it with his foot. He flicks it forward and shakes his leg to bring the fabric closer.

“Hmm?” Brian mumbles, stirring slightly against his chest. Stefan freezes, leg raised. Brian stretches against him, yawning loudly. Stefan drops his leg, knowing he’s sprung.

“Going?” the smaller man asks childishly, wrapping his leg around Stefan’s as if to stop him.

“No, just cold,” he says, tracing his fingertips against Brian’s shoulder. The singer shivers against him.

“Cold,” he echoes drowsily. Stefan chuckles, rolling over to plant a kiss on his forehead. Brian sighs happily. Stefan wishes he could stay here, in this moment.

Instead, he eases his arm out from under Brian and slides off the bed. He pads quietly to the bathroom, relieving his aching bladder. He returns to the room with a glass of water, placing it carefully on the bedside table. He notes the time with relief: _5:38_. Stefan slides underneath the covers, scooting over to meet Brian’s body.

The singer stirs against him, swiping at the comforter.

“Get under,” Stefan tells him. Brian frowns but doesn’t open his eyes.

“Bri,” Stefan shakes his shoulder gently; an incredibly dangerous move. A scowl, then blinking.

“Bri, get in.” Two red eyes open, the irises startlingly blue. Brian glares, still waking up.

“Hop in,” Stefan says, bracing himself. The singer stretches and yawns loudly.

“Jesus,” he hisses, shivering.

“Yes, my child?” Stefan answers, lowering his voice for effect. Brian cracks a smile as he rises to his knees.

“There’s a religion I could get behind,” he mumbles, standing with a wobble and moving quickly for the other room. Stefan hears him cackle as he takes a leak.

“ _The church of man-love_ ,” he sings, his voice reverberating angelically around the bathroom, “ _is such a holy place to be-he_!”

Stefan shushes him between giggles. Brian waltzes back into the room grinning around a toothbrush; he points at the purple bruise on his collar bone.

“What are you, 15?”

Stefan blushes in response and Brian tuts and shakes his head. 

When he returns, Brian climbs onto Stefan’s side of the bed and crawls over him, rather than walk the long way round. Stefan rolls his eyes at the smaller man as he wriggles beneath the covers.

“Bbrrrr!” he snuggles in against Stefan, shivering for added effect. He smells of musk and spearmint; his cold skin tingles against Stefan’s warm body. Stefan’s gaze sweeps down his chest and back again, settling on the blossoming bruise.

A stamp, a sign that says _I was here, I was wanted._


	51. Chapter 51

Steve lies still, feigning sleep. He’s not ashamed, exactly, but he feels an indignity in acknowledging the other man. He knows he has to pack, and prepare for a day spend confined to the tour bus. The light behind his eyelids burns, his head feels swollen with pain. Steve rolls slowly, pressing his face into his pillow, blocking the morning light. The body beside him shifts and he freezes.

Matias yawns and stretches, sliding from the bed and slinking into the bathroom. Steve stays flat, attempting to keep his breathing at a slow, steady pace. He feels like a bastard, and a hypocrite. What he remembers was fun, enjoyable. Not exactly groundbreaking, not the epiphany he perhaps was expecting. Matias has been sweet and silly, understanding any hesitations. The same foggy image of Brian pops into Steve’s mind; shining eyes and grit teeth. _Why?_ The question has plagued him endlessly. _Why me? Why didn’t I stop him? Why now?_

_Why?_

Was it like a sex dream, where you wake up feeling strangely for someone you’d never previously considered? Was it his neanderthal brain, or dick, acting on instinct for sex? Did Brian realise the sheer space he occupied in Steve’s mind? Did he mean it? Or was this a regretful mistake for him too?

The bed sags as Matias sits beside Steve; the drummer stiffens.

“Good morning,” he purrs, fingertips sweeping back Steve’s hair.

Steve lies still; his mind racing, head pounding and stomach churning. The seconds drag excruciatingly slow. Steve steels himself, and turns to squint at the other man.

“Hi,” Matias says softly, brushing the back of his hand against Steve’s cheek.

“Hey,” Steve croaks, flinching slightly. Matias pulls his hand away, but still smiles.

“You have time for some sight-seeing today?”

Steve shakes his head gently.

“I think we’re booked up,” he lies.

“Breakfast, then?” Matias looks hopeful. Steve rolls onto his back, glancing away.

“I’m not feeling so well,” he says, then adds, “sorry.”

“You want me to go?” Matias’ tone has fallen flat. Steve hesitates, looking up at the other man. Big, soft eyes watch him back, glowing a honey brown. He reaches out a hand, resting it on Matias’ arm.

“This is all, a bit...” he searches for the right word.

“Weird?” Matias offers. Steve smiles, but nods.

“Oh,” the Chilean wriggles back on the bed, leaning lightly against him. “So, you’re not going to swap teams then?”

Steve snorts softly, amused. “Sorry,” he says, squeezing Matias’ arm.

“Maybe my blowjobs aren’t life-changing, after all...” Matias sighs with exaggerated disappointment. Steve chuckles.

“It was okay?” Matias asks, his tone more serious now.

Steve nods in earnest. “It was fine,” he smiles reassuringly, “nice.”

“ _Nice!_ ” Matias grins but shakes his head, standing and dressing himself from clothing scattered across the floor. “Nice...” he repeats, rolling his eyes at the drummer. “No _mañanera_ for you then, straight boy,” Matias wags a finger at him.

Steve scoffs, easing himself upright against the headboard. He wraps an arm around his stomach in an attempt to quell the nausea. It’s surreal to be joking with Matias, to have another man packing up his things the morning after despite having watched so many women do the same. It relieves Steve to remember that a one-night stand can be just that; just meeting, fucking, then leaving. No strings, no feelings, no complications. He wonders if he can apply the same logic to his night with Brian… _Why can’t I stop thinking about it?_ How can he absolve himself of his guilt, his self-disgust? He follows the twisted threads, wondering how he can possibly untangle the knot where lover and friend intersect. He wonders how Mati is feeling right now, _does he feel used the same way I did?_ _Like a plaything, part of a game?_ It relieves him to see that Matias looks calm; content even.

Matias returns to his bedside and leans over him, cupping his cheek. He kisses Steve quickly, before pulling back and grinning cheekily.

“Bye, Mr Macho,” he teases, strolling toward the door.

“Bye, Mati,” Steve smiles softly.

The Chilean blows a kiss as he leaves.


	52. Chapter 52

The morning marches forward, despite Brian’s best efforts to remain unconscious. He leans awkwardly across the bed to stub his cigarette out on the windowsill, and then quickly wriggles back beneath the quilt. He flicks though TV channels distractedly, instead preferring to watch Stefan from the comfort of the bed. The bassist has called for room service and while waiting for breakfast is plucking discarded items from the floor and folding them neatly into separate piles. Brian giggles as Stefan strides round the room, bending up and down in just his briefs. The Swede turns to him, an eyebrow cocked, as if surprised to find him still awake.

“Y’know, some people pay for topless maids.”

“Oh?” Stefan places a hand on his hip, “ _some people_ do, do they?” Brian grins at him.

“Yeah, so I’ve heard,” Brian stretches against the pile of pillows behind him. His gaze sweeps down to Stefan’s underwear and back to meet his eyes. “Why the pants?”

Stefan blinks at him, then gestures toward the window and back to the door.

“So? Just us,” Brian throws his head back to yawn deeply.

“ _So_...? Not all of us are exhibitionists,” Stefan mirrors Brian’s yawn, arms raised in a stretch. Brian watches the way his stomach tenses, his taut physique like carved marble. He thinks of Stefan onstage, his hips gyrating, his movements commanding the crowd with quiet confidence. Without his guitar, he stands shyly.

“What?” Stefan asks, wrapping his arms around himself as if reading Brian’s mind.

“I’m not allowed to look at my boyfriend?” Brian quips, the last word out of his mouth without thinking. The pair are silent for a long moment. Stefan finally smiles and Brian grins back with relief.

“Want the first shower?” Stefan asks, bending to grab a sock.

“You’re not joining me?” Brian pushes his bottom lip out. Stefan rolls his eyes.

“Breakfast will be here any minute,” he explains, grabbing sweatpants from the floor and pulling them on. Brian pouts again as his view is obscured.

“Go,” Stefan commands, “The peep show is over.”

Brian moves sluggishly to the bathroom, hoping to convince Stefan with theatrics. When his partner fails to appear, he drags himself to the shower stall alone. He steps into the running water and groans, twisting his neck and pulling his shoulders back to stretch. He sighs as the heat eases his aches, breathing the steam in deeply. He lathers shampoo into his hair, still surprised by the lack of length as he cleans. Brian takes the cap off the miniature body-wash and holds it cautiously to his nose; a vague whiff of vanilla. He rubs the liquid into his palms and then slowly over his body, his fingers pinching and prodding at the areas he dislikes. He squeezes at his belly, disgusted at what he sees. He thinks of Stefan’s flat stomach and scowls. He thinks of another man; muscular but padded softly. He clenches his fists, determined not to dwell on the thought. _He probably doesn’t even remember_ , Brian attempts to reassure himself. Though it should be a comfort, the idea hurts him.

He rinses off quickly and wraps himself in a towel. The fogged mirror shows him a deformed image of himself; hazy and blurred. He wipes a hand across the condensation and stares into the reflection. Pale skin blotchy from the heat, eyes heavy with fatigue. He jumps when a shadow moves behind him.

“Fuck!” He hisses, tensing as an arm wraps around him. Stefan rests his chin on Brian’s head, watching him in the mirror. 

“No, thank you,” Stefan replies. Brian snorts as he relaxes against him.

“Who’s a pretty boy, then?” Stefan teases, looking ahead at the mirror. Brian narrows his gaze at Stefan’s blurred reflection. He turns to face the other man, pulling at his eye bags to show his disagreement. Stefan cups his hands and pulls them away gently, leaning forward to kiss the soft skin at the corners of his eyes. Brian bites back a smile. He furrows his brow to demonstrate another flaw. Stefan simply presses his lips to his forehead. Brian beams, then tilts his chin upward to meet Stefan’s mouth with his own. The kiss is sweet and tender; it says more than Brian could himself. Stefan breaks away slowly, grinning down at Brian. He squeezes Brian’s hands quickly, before letting them go.

“Breakfast is here,” he says, reaching over the singer to wipe at the mirror. Brian rests a hand on his waist, reluctant to let him go. Stefan steps back and reaches into the shower, twisting the taps on.

“Oh,” Stefan turns back to him, as if just remembering, “Phone thing, at 10. So... right about now.” Brian screws up his nose in response and Stefan shrugs. The bassist turns back to the shower and slides off his sweats, pausing to glance over his shoulder.

“Don’t mind me,” Brian offers, watching intently.

“Dirty old man,” Stefan mutters.

“ _Old!?_ ” Brian gasps in mock horror, stepping forward to slap him lightly on the arse. Stefan laughs as he jumps into the shower. Brian turns back to the mirror and stares. A large heart now frames his reflection; a delighted smile beams back at him.


	53. Chapter 53

Stefan slides open the bathroom door slowly and peeks his head out. Brian lays on the bed in his towel, the phone in one hand, a cigarette in the other.

“No, not yet,” Stefan freezes in the doorway, but Brian hasn’t noticed him. “We have a few demos, but won’t be recording until we’re back home.”

Stefan slinks into the room; Brian pulls a face at him, obviously bored with the interview.

“Ah, well, we’ve been doing this for a long time now,” Brian takes a quick drag on his fag, nodding sarcastically at whatever the journalist is saying. “No,” he interrupts, “I don’t think so. We’re very different people now, much more mature, y’know?”

Stefan takes a mug from the serving tray and sips at his tepid coffee. Brian narrows his eyes at him as Stefan looks on in amusement.

“Well of course, David is a hero of ours, and we’re very lucky to count him as a friend. Oh, no... y’know it has been quite a few years since I ponced about in a little black dress...” Brian holds two fingers to his temple and mimes pulling a trigger. Stefan stifles a snort of laughter. 

He moves to the foot of the bed and plucks jeans and a t-shirt from a pile of clothing. Brian is explaining something with growing frustration.

“No, I never said-” The singer shakes his head. Stefan moves for the serving tray and takes the coffee pot over to the bedside table, refilling Brian’s mug. He offers a pained smile in thanks. Stefan tops up his own mug and sits gingerly into the bed.

“Well, every album has been different, y’know, we’ve been working a lot more with pianos so-” He sips at his coffee and Stefan shuffles closer, leaning in to try and hear the chatter from the speaker.

“No, actually we’ve very lucky that our Stefan is a skilled pianist.” The Swede raises an eyebrow at Brian as the journalist falls silent. “That’s _pianist,_ ” Brian adds with a titter, “Not-”

Stefan pouts at the correction and Brian swats him, grinning. The Swede relaxes onto the stack of pillows against the headboard, resting his head on Brian’s shoulder and wrapping an arm around him.

Brian stares straight ahead, apparently trying to focus on the interview and not him.

“Mmm, yeah, we’re really into them at the moment, the same producer did Interpol’s latest album too.”

Stefan slides his hand down to rest on Brian thigh, fingertips skimming the edge of his towel.

“We always look for producers who share our-” Brian inhales as Stefan inches further under his towel. “Uh, our mindset. They need to be open-minded. We’re not a guitar band, we-” Brian feigns a cough, “Excuse me. Our influences come from a huge variety of genres; disco, metal, jazz, electro, you name it. We don’t want to narrow ourselves into one label, one category.”

Stefan drags his fingers up Brian’s inner thigh, skating across the delicate flesh. Brian shifts forward, parting his knees slightly, his gaze still turned firmly away. He continues explaining, pausing occasionally to conceal his sighs. Stefan moves down the bed, his free hand untucking the twist in Brian’s towel. It falls open at his chest and Stefan slides his knuckles against the exposed skin. He traces a trail downward, moving teasingly slowly around Brian’s belly button. He skates his fingertips into the downy hair and finally takes Brian’s dick in his hand. 

“I’m sorry,” Brian says with restraint, “I think, the, uh, connection dropped out, could you repeat that?” Stefan rises on his knees and slowly shifts backwards, placing himself between Brian’s legs.

“Right, yeah, I think they’re one of the most exciting bands to come out of the US,” the singer is saying, “Her voice is absolutely incredible.”

Stefan strokes teasingly slow, watching Brian with glee. The singer glances down at him quickly, before turning back toward the ceiling.

“Word association? Yeah, okay, fine,” Brian leans back against the pillows, grimacing.

“Put it on speaker,” Stefan says, stoking faster now. Brian shakes his head, biting his lip as he struggles to focus on the call.

Stefan dips forward and runs his tongue up the length of Brian’s cock, before sliding it into his mouth. Brian gasps.

“Yellow,” he says into the receiver. 

“Rain.”

“Death.” Brian bucks against him, his eyes clamped shut. Stefan moves leisurely, stroking and sucking slowly.

“Pasta.”

“Vampire.” Brian presses his fist against his mouth, suppressing a moan.

“Computer.”

“A Goddess.”

“No. Hate him.”

“Tits.” Stefan sucks harder in protest, Brian gasps against his hand.

“Bastard.” Stefan wonders if this is an answer, or an insult directed at him. He slides a hand underneath Brian’s sack and massages, drawing a hiss from the singer. Brian twists against the bed, moaning.

“Jesus.”

“ _Stef._ ” Stefan pauses. Brian’s eyes flash open, heat creeping across his cheeks as he clears his throat.

“Um, are we done?” Brian mumbles into the phone, “Okay, sure, yeah. Thanks very much.” He reaches out desperately for the phone cradle; it clatters as he slams the receiver down.

“Fuck,” Brian mouths at him, exhaling shakily as their eyes meet. Stefan grins around his cock, moving with renewed determination. Brian wails, clasping at the bedding as he nears orgasm. Stefan watches with satisfaction as the singer writhes, his pleasure released with a lengthy moan.

“Oh, you fucking bastard,” Brian sighs and sinks into the pillows behind him. Stefan rises to his knees, watching Brian with a contented grin. 

“Wow, you’re welcome,” Stefan kids. Brian reaches up, motioning for him to come closer. He shifts forward, leaning over Brian; the singer pulling him against his chest.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, breath still ragged. Stefan lies beside him; his bliss vanishing as his thoughts race. His mind begins leaping forward, counting off the moment as just another on a short list, the inevitable conclusion looming. He wishes he could quell that anxiety and just be present. Wishes he wasn’t already living in memories.

Brian turns to him, and presses his mouth to Stefan’s. He returns the kiss, his tongue meeting Brian’s.

_He’s mine,_ Stefan reminds himself. _Today, here, now; he’s mine._


	54. Chapter 54

Steve thumbs though a wallet of DVDs, staring vacantly. Most of his fellow passengers have turned in for the night but sleep eludes him. He’s managed to avoid Brian most of the afternoon, aside from a quick spat in the kitchenette. He’s seen the small man pacing at the other end of the vehicle, perhaps waiting for him to leave the lounge for his bed. Steve remembers how Brian has been weird about his bunk last tour, the nights he’d woken them screaming, sobbing about being in a coffin. _Perhaps he’s planning on sleeping out on the lounge instead_ ; Steve leans back in his seat and swings his feet up onto the cushion as if to stake his claim. He knows the action is childish, but still takes delight in thinking he might have annoyed Brian a little. The TV opposite him hisses as the station flickers to static, then back the programme. He stares ahead at the deformed images, the actors onscreen twisting and sputtering, the audio crackling. The images warp and flash back to the grainy dead signal. It instantly reminds him of that night; Brian on his lap, moving against him; the television flashing static snowfall behind him.

Steve presses his face into his palms and groans.

_Why?_

He peeks between his fingers toward the kitchenette, searching for the small shadowy figure.

_Just fucking ask him_.

But what of the answer he gets? He’s not gay, he knows that much. Steve slides his hands across his jaw and kneads his fingers into his neck, digging at the tension. He replays he memories once more, looking for clues. He and Brian drinking, commiserating. Chatting though b-grade horror films, those trashy European ones with psychedelic soundtracks and gratuitous nudity. He remembers waking, possibly, to Brian in his lap. Then... Brian’s mouth against his ear, his words mumbled. _You wanted me too._

_Me too._ Steve ponders this, glancing quickly toward the kitchenette. _It could have been us._ The recollection startles him but somehow softens his spite. Steve still doesn’t understand _why_ but it hurts less to think Brian wasn’t motivated by malice. He takes a deep breath and leans back into his seat. His rage gives way to confusion, the puzzle pieces that still don’t seem to fit together.

There’s a tiny part of him that’s flattered.

Steve makes up his mind to talk to Brian, with sincerity and sympathy. To allow him to explain; perhaps to confess. And in turn he will clarify his own feelings, that his admiration is as a friend only, a brother even.

In his head, it seems a straightforward and simple task. In reality, he knows he needs another drink before he can even consider approaching the singer about this.


	55. Chapter 55

Brian rocks in his seat, pulling his feet up and sliding them beneath himself. He wraps an arm around his waist; partly to comfort himself, partly for warmth. He looks up from his phone, peering into the darkness to see if the lounge is still occupied. He assumes Steve is lingering just to annoy him. And he refuses to let the drummer see that indeed it has.

He and Stefan have always had an unspoken rule about not sharing a bunk on the bus. The proximity to their other passengers wasn’t exactly a turn on, and even the most creative couples struggle in a single bunk bed. On the rare occasions they broke their rule, they typically just laid together, snuggling or sleeping. Brian wonders if Stefan would welcome him tonight, or if he should give him some space.

Brian snatches the flask beside him and takes a long gulp; gasping as the vodka burns down his throat. He holds his phone before him, watching the _sending message_ screen blink. Brian groans, impatient now. He wriggles in his seat and holds the cell high above his head in one hand, hoping to get a signal. He knows Celeste worries if he leaves messages unanswered for too long. Sometimes he takes advantage of this fact, occasionally ignoring her contact just to see her response. Just to feel needed.

He watches the envelope icon on the screen flash; still no signal. He huffs and helps himself to another swig of vodka. Brian hopes the liquor will soon ease him toward sleep. But he feels restless, having already spent much of the day in bed. He wonders if Stefan is awake; if he’s reading, or writing. _Maybe he’s listening to something_. Brian imagines curling up beside him, each of them with one ear bud, listening to some gentle orchestral piece. _After this sends,_ he tells himself, feeling slightly guilty.

Brian untucks his feet and stands with a wobble, his arm still raised as he struggles to find a phone signal. He moves slowly toward the window, stepping unsteadily as the bus hurtles though the night. He presses a palm and his face to the glass and peers out, unable to make out his surroundings. The world outside is dark, the blurred shadows looking like smudged ink. He can’t make out any stars, can’t even tell where the sky meets the land. _Into the void,_ he thinks with a scoff.

Brian steps back from the window, shivering as an icy chill runs though him. He looks hopefully toward his cell phone but scowls as he spots the _sending message_ screen. He raises the phone above his head again, padding slowly toward the kitchenette. He zigzags from one side of the bus to the other, his frustration growing with each step.

He barely notices the TV glowing as he steps into the lounge; doesn’t acknowledge his bandmate. Brian steps forward absentmindedly and his toe collides with the corner of the lounge.

“Jesus _fucking_ Chri _-_ ”

“Shhhhh!” Brian glares ahead at the drummer; in both shock and agony. Steve nods his head toward the bunks behind him. Brian grits his teeth and hisses in pain. 

“…You okay?” Steve asks softly, struggling to keep a straight face.

“Just... don’t...” Brian raises a hand and slides onto the other end of the lounge.

“High score on Snake?” Steve teases glancing towards the cell phone and Brian grimaces, dropping it onto the table before him.

“I’m so glad you’re talking to me again, but please just shut the fuck up, for one minute.” Brian crosses his leg on top of the other, pulling his foot closer to inspect the damage. His toe is just a little pink; no blood gushing or bone jutting out. He feels Steve watching him; Brian remembers his drink and takes a long gulp, attempting to disguise his embarrassment.

“Ambulance, or will we need a chopper?”

“Ha _ha,_ ” Brian offers, finally meeting Steve’s eye. He notes the half bottle of whiskey in his lap, which explains his sudden joviality.

They sit in silence for a minute, then another; Brian wishes he’d kept walking past. He knows he’s expected to say something but he’s absolutely not in the mood to chat, let alone apologise. _He doesn’t even remember,_ Brian reminds himself, _he’s shitty about the baby._

He sips again at the vodka, steeling himself.

“What are you watching?” Brian finally asks, hesitant to offer an olive branch.

Steve shows him a slight smile in return; the relief is instant.


	56. Chapter 56

The pair stare at the TV, watching a soccer match flicker as the signal fades.

“Who’s playing?” Brian asks, tapping his nails distractedly against his flask. The drummer laughs.

“Seriously...?” Steve raises an eyebrow and Brian sighs.

“Fine then, forget it, I’ll just go to bed,” he crosses his arms and huffs but makes no attempt to stand.

“Chile and Columbia?” Steve quickly replies, squinting at the fuzzy screen. Brian nods as if the information means something to him. Steve shakes his head and laughs quietly.

“This is ridiculous,” he states, staring at the singer. Brian’s eyes widen, he presses his lips into a straight line. There’s something scarier about a quiet Brian; fireworks he knows how to deal with.

“Look, can we just-”

“I’m sorry,” Brian cuts in. Steve shoots him a look of disbelief. _Is this about…?_ He’s imagined this discussion hundreds of times now, but Steve suddenly isn’t sure he’s ready to talk about it.

“… I should have listened to you, about, y’know, the baby.” Brian is watching his phone; Steve nods slowly as he realises what the singer is actually talking about. He watches Brian fiddle with his cigarette packet, his focus still downcast.

“Ah… well, I’m no expert,” Steve takes a swig from his bottle, “but I just wanted to stop you from fucking things up. Like I did.” At this Brian glances up, offering a small smile.

“It doesn’t seem real,” Brian admits softly, gaze turned back to his cell phone.

“Won’t ‘til you hold it,” Steve sighs, recalling that particular moment; him wrapping his arms around the tiny, pink, squealing creature. That first deep inhale as he pressed his lips to her forehead, the scent mesmerising.

“I don’t think…” Brian fidgets with his fag, before exhaling heavily. “I don’t think I can do it.” He finally looks to Steve, his eyes shining. The drummer’s instinct is to comfort him, but he resists.

“Can’t do any worse than your old man,” Steve kids and Brian laughs dryly.

“I suppose the bar is set rather low, what’s another fucked-up Molko?” he raises his steel flask in grim celebration. “Hate to break with family tradition now!” Steve scoffs but leans forward with his own bottle, clinking it to Brian’s.

“You’ll be a million times better than him,” Steve assures Brian. The singer rolls his eyes.

“Million times zero is still zero,” he states flatly, tapping his cigarette against an ashtray. Steve wishes there was an easier way to explain to Brian all his advantages, rather than lecturing him.

“How’s the missus?” he asks, attempting to cheer Brian a little. The singer grimaces at Steve’s choice of word.

“She’s fine,” he grabs his phone and inspects it, as if just remembering something. “She’s _excited._ ” He taps at the phone keyboard and then huffs. “I wish I could feel excited for her, _with her_ , but…” Brian shrugs and takes a deep drag on his cigarette. “I’m just not ready to play happy families. I don’t think I ever will be.”

“Does Celeste know about,” Steve nods his head toward Stefan’s bunk, “you two?”

“Piss off,” Brian laughs, “This again?! What, are you Doctor fucking Phil now?” Steve raises his hands defensively, not meaning to pick a fight but unwilling to drop the topic.

“C’mon Bri, how the hell is this going to work once the baby comes?” The singer snorts and shakes his head, ignoring him.

“You know as well as I do, he’s not been himself,” Steve presses on, painfully aware of the upset he’s likely to cause.

Brian looks at him blankly.

“Wouldn’t it be better, for both of you, to just-”

“Like it’s your fucking business,” Brian spits, his jovial tone turned sour. Steve slaps a palm to the table, leaning forward.

“It is my fucking business, quite literally,” Steve argues, “If he leaves, there’s no band!”

“Oh, _he’s_ the band?” Brian laughs bitterly. Steve seethes at Brian’s callous.

“Do you not even care about him, of all people!?

“Don’t you fucking _dare_. You sanctimonious prick!” Brian turns from him, jaw set as he lights himself another cigarette. Steve knows he can’t back down now, that he has to make his point while Brian is actually listening to him.

“Haven’t you hurt him enough?”

Brian stiffens in his seat, glowering up at the drummer. Steve is relieved to see him react; he continues now he’s caught Brian’s attention.

“You didn’t see him last night, when you took off with that other bloke...” Steve sighs, realising his own envy. Brian’s ire turns to glee as he rises from the lounge to meet Steve’s eye.

“Oh, you mean...” he tilts his head in mock contemplation. “Lovely _Mati?_ How was it?”

The realisation slowly dawns on Steve, recalling the pair of them fawning and flirting. He glares at the singer.

“You fucking bastard,” Steve sucks air though his teeth, turning away as he attempts to calm himself. His mind boggles, bouncing though scenarios, boiling into rage. _Is everything a game? Am I just a fucking joke?_ Steve storms forward, the motion of the bus propelling him faster. He grabs Brian by the front of his shirt, his anger leaving him speechless as he clenches his jaw.

Brian leans into his grip, unafraid. He has the gall to grin up at the drummer, his eyes burning.

“Well,” he starts, his lip curling into a smirk, “was he better than me?” Steve’s fist digs into the fabric of his shirt, knuckles white. Brian watches him, unfazed. He raises his eyebrows up and down, as if to punctuate the question.

“I’ll fucking-” Steve finally hisses furiously.

“You’ll what?” Brian interrupts. He wraps his fingers lightly around Steve’s taut fist and the drummer pulls back in disgust. Hurt flashes briefly across Brian’s face, but he steels himself.

“You’ll hit me?” Brian asks, the sarcasm missing from his tone. Steve’s rage subsides, turning to confusion. “Do it,” Brian commands, tilting his jaw as if to provide a better target.

Steve gawps, frowning in bewilderment.

“I can’t make you do _anything,_ ” Brian says pointedly, moving closer to him. “You chose-”

“No.” At this Steve’s anger reignites, his stomach churning with guilt. He shakes his head, stepping backward. It’s too surreal to hear Brian acknowledge what happened, solidifying the event as fact.

“You wanted to,” Brian insists, following him across the small space. “You wanted _me.”_ With this his voice cracks, and Steve is again propelled into puzzlement.

“Didn’t you...?” Brian’s bravado is lost; he swallows hard and watches Steve with tear-filled eyes. 

“I, I was drunk,” Steve stutters, “I didn’t mean,” he shakes his head with exasperation, “it was a mistake...”

“Beanie?” Brian reaches toward him, resting his hand lightly against his arm. Steve looks into his eyes, searching for spite.

“I,” Steve falters, replaying fragments of the night in his mind for the millionth time. _I have to know._

“Didn’t you... You said something... _It could have been us_.”

“Couldn’t it?” Brian sways forward, pressing his lips lightly against Steve’s.

The drummer freezes.


End file.
